


A Collection of Smutty Marvel One-shots

by sighodinson



Category: Daredevil (TV), Deadpool (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Bronze (2015), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-02-05 12:26:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 44
Words: 46,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12794544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sighodinson/pseuds/sighodinson
Summary: All my smutty works gathered in one place. Sinning is winning, my friends.





	1. Sweetest Sin [Steve Rogers]

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he’d never accounted for falling in love with you. (fallen angel!steve rogers x reader)

Steve’s always expected banishment from Heaven to be painful. He’s expected the fall to  _burn,_ he’s expected his senses to fail him, the sharpness of them fading into blunt edges like the overused edge of a knife. But if anything, Steve hadn’t expected  _you._

There are many things that after losing his grace that Steve had  _not_ considered.

He’d considered his vulnerability in the world of humans. He dares not say that his mortality is something that he fears but it  _is_ something that he’s considered, something that he’s come to accept.

But Steve has not had the time nor the idea of considering falling in love with a mortal.

He has - with vague, insincere thought - come to terms with the fact that he too is now mortal but still, he does not consider his heart to be his own to give freely.

If anything, Steve finds you to be no different from any mortal. He  _has,_ after all, regarded them with disdain for eons upon eons of his life.

He’s never considered falling in love with you.

* * *

There is a clear fascination in those azure irises of his that he regards you with, the corner of his lips quirking in that smug fashion of his, managing to set some sort of fire in your veins that at one point in your life, only whiskey could be the cause of.

Steve knows, with crippling certainty perhaps, that he is  _not_ the first to have you in such a state of unbidden lust, darkened pupils gazing into his own as the dexterous length of his fingers slide down the length of your body, impossibly gentle and  _slow_ in their meandering journey to explore every inch of exposed skin left bare for his eyes to feast on.

He  _knows_ that he’s not the first to do this with you, to do  _any_ of this with you but he can’t help the way that his chest flutters with pride with the way that you sing under his touch. He’s  _determined,_ if anything, to make this experience as  _wonderful_ for you as it is for him.

It’s a first for him. His first experience through a mortal view. He realizes then  _just_ how overwhelming the sensory input would have been if he was still in possession of his grace. Each particle of air  _still_ vibrates with an electricity that can only be credited to the heat of your gaze.

Steve Rogers may have fallen from grace but his memories are ones that he retains.

He has not allowed himself the pleasure of tasting anyone since the change of his form but it’s the way that your flavor glides along his tongue, succulent and intoxicating in a way that has him craving more and more with every lap of his tongue and every choked gasp spilling in a  _beautiful_ symphony -

He’d like to think that you’re the sweetest thing that he’s ever tasted. Everything else becomes a cheap, false imitation designed to fool his mind, his soul into thinking there was something more pleasurable.

Steve takes his time teasing along the edge of your folds, swiping up along one side before switching to the other. In every way, the torturously  _delicious_ pace he sets has your body betraying your mind, asking for  _more_ with nothing but trembling thighs and jerking hips.

His tongue works its way to your center with a tantalizing pace that has your fingers tugging impatiently at his blond locks, a breathless and completely  _ruined_ plea for him to give in to your desires.

When your legs lock around his head, he can’t help but smile. Taking a moment, a long moment, to drink in the tremors of your body under his palms, his fingers extending as he begins to drag the tips of his fingers along your inner thigh, dipping along your pelvis and pressing down to restrain any further movement. It earns a lewd moan from your lips, one that he  _revels_ in.

“ _Steve.”_ It’s impossible to keep quiet under his endless ministrations, “Shit, that feels - that feels  _good._ ”

Of course, he hasn’t even  _gotten_ to the good part yet but the way that your approval of his actions vocalizes leaves him  _breathless._ There’s a heady rush of blood downwards and he swears that he’s never felt more constrained in his pants, growing ever more uncomfortable in the confines.

His tongue glides higher, circling your clit as he eases his finger within you -

There’s little to no resistance when he sinks the second one in, your warm wetness embracing his fingers welcomingly. The heat is  _incredible_ , the softness surrounding him catches him completely off guard and  _his entire world shifts_ , every other distant noise fading into the background as you intrude upon  _every one_ of his senses.

A low groan leaves his lips, the image of having you wrapped snugly around the length of his cock, knowing just how good  _this_ feels has his hips jutting towards the mattress in a weak attempt to alleviate some of the pressure.

He needs nothing but the sighs leaving your lips, serenading him, to know that you’re enjoying his attentions  _immensely._

His lips wrap around the sensitive bundle of nerves and your entire body jerks in response, hips trying to fight his hold - his grip only tightens to keep you grounded, so that he can continue.

“God, you’re good at this,” The praise leaves your lips in a pant and he wants to hear how well he’s doing,  _again and again,_ repeating the same movements with his tongue and lips. It does take him a little bit of trouble to find the part that makes you  _sing._

The fingers tugging at his hair are reassurance enough that he  _is_ allowed to try again. He realizes - with darkened eyes and renewed vigor - that it’s not one specific part that keeps the song rising in pitch, in tempo but the entire sequence that you gasping and moaning and choking on his name.

Part of him wants to believe that he’s more human than he believes because, after all, it’s  _his_ name that’s flowing from your lips like an endless river and not someone else’s.

Humans seemed to make up for their flaws in emotional capacity, he discovers. He can promise his life that he’s never been so  _lost_ in the rising tide of jumbled emotions and nerves that thrum with pure anticipation.

“So good, Steve. So good.” He’s unable to tell whether it’s the low tone of your voice or your very words that have his pulse continuing to race.

His fingers dig into your flesh reflexively, an appreciative and  _wrecked_ noise vibrating through his chest that exposes him just as much as it exposes you.

“Someone likes hearing how good they are…” It’s a miracle that you’ve even managed to force the words out of your mouth but in the periphery of his vision, he sees you lift your head. The moment that his eyes lock with yours, there’s a deep tug in the pit of his stomach that makes his cock twitch. With his hips grinding forward into the side of the mattress, there’s a secondary wave of pleasure that follows.

“If you want praise, Feathers, you’re going to have to earn it.” You smirk, amusement clear in your tone as his hips give another harsh jerk against the mattress.

“How’s this for earning it?” He  _growls,_ his finger leaving your warmth just so the tip of it sits inside you. He teases it back and forth, and you’re suddenly  _not_ the only one suffering under his slow torment as his mind begins to envision other things inside you that’s not the second finger he sinks into you to add to your pleasure.

Steve’s tongue flicks against your clit again and he takes the time to revel in the shudder that ripples through your body, toes curling. Your walls clamp down on his fingers and there’s a simultaneous moan that hisses through your teeth and a sharp inhale from him at the sensation.

You’re so  _warm, so wet_ and it’s not a question of whether he’ll fit so much as to whether he’ll be able to last in your velvet embrace.

He feels as though there’s nothing else in the world but you but,  _shit,_ he needs to focus. This is about you. And if he can find the strength to focus on that, he  _might_ be able to make it through this.

The pace at which he’s pumping his fingers into you gradually increases - he’s immensely enjoying the way that your once measured and careful moans dissolve into reckless, erratic groans.

“ _Angel._ ” He growls at the nickname, remembering that despite his weakened and vulnerable state, there’s still something  _primal_ that drives him forth to curl his finger upwards to brush against your g-spot.

That’s the button you push, the one that has him soaring higher than he’s ever flown and falling faster than he’s ever fell. You haven’t even touched him below the belt and he’s closer to his high that he has to press himself against the mattress to keep from reaching it.

Steve has to focus to channel his energy into taking you over the edge, tongue frantically gliding at a pace that results in his entire head moving to keep up with it. He’s rewarded with a myriad of melodious moans, broken occasionally by a loud cry of his name.

His hand slides up to your breast where he has something to clench onto and whether he’s looking for an anchor to keep him from falling over the edge or trying to leave his mark remains completely unknown. There’s an echo of a similar feeling when your hand tightens in his hair, promising that you’re about to stumble over the same edge.

“ _STEVE!”_ The cry is sharp as it leaves your lips, leaving your voice hoarse - It’s  _too much,_ overwhelming his senses to the point that everything flashes white for a quick second and before he can catch himself, he’s  _falling_. His body jerks involuntarily before warmth seeps through his pants.

He can barely place that  _this,_ this was beyond horrific. He chooses to play the human card, placing the blame on the fact that it’s all because of you that he’s become some hormone-driven, crazed teenager. His head drops to the mattress.

You sit up, fingers finding their way back into his hair, your touch shifting into something more gentle. His heart skips a few beats. Each stroke against his scalp quells some of the embarrassment, though he doubts it can ever actually be undone completely.

“You wanna know what the advantage of this is?” The question leaves your lips almost like a taunt and his head perks up, perhaps in confusion, as if he wasn’t aware that there  _was_ an advantage. His eyebrow raises in question as you smirk.

“You’ll last longer when I fuck you.”

And apparently, the challenge is  _enough_  because the next thing you know, he’s hovering over you again, kissing you passionately and you swear -

 _It’s like the first time all over again_.


	2. Sweetest Sin [Steve Rogers]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How sex with Steve Rogers would be like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoy!

**\- When:** It’ll happen at night. Steve will wake up, after hours of trying and failing to go to sleep. He’ll pull you close, pressing soft kisses to the back of your neck, lips barely brushing your skin….

 **\- Location:** Your bedroom. 99% of the time, it’s because your room is the closest to where both of you begin to get handsy. You can’t help but adore the smirk on his face as Tony catches him take the walk of shame back to his room, causing you to repeatedly lead him into your room every time that you want to ravage him…

-  **Why:** He’s really stressed from the most recent mission, constantly on edge because some frantic part of him keeps repeating that the threat has not been neutralized. 

-  **Noise level:** Thank god for Tony Stank and his soundproofing of all the rooms. 

-  **Position:** Cowgirl. Steve loves seeing you on top, his hands planted on your hips encouraging you to move a little faster, nails digging into his chest and moans leaving your lips. He’s always in control outside the bedroom so he’d like a change. 

-  **Rough? Gentle? :** He’s never been with a woman as intimately as you before so your first time together, you take the lead. Words of encouragement leave you lips as you guide his hands around your body, teaching him the basics. As he grows more confident in his motions, his hand will grow rougher, kneading your soft skin, resulting in your once steady guiding manner slipping into a mess of broken words and soft moans. 

And then there are the days Tony is pissing him off….He quite possibly may have to carry you everywhere. 

-  **Activities:**  
*** oRgaSm DeNiaL:** Steve is such a tease, no joke. He’ll have you right on the edge, back arching off the bed as he goes down on you, whimpers of his name begging him to keep going. And suddenly, he’ll just stop.              

                  *  **PoWer KiNk:** He  _loves_ to be called ‘Captain’ in bed. The first time you did it, he paused for a moment before thrusting inside of you so much slower than before, making you feel every inch of him.  _Say it again._               

                  * Oral: Steve’s not as big on receiving oral as he is on giving it. He takes pleasure in making you moan his name loudly in such a way that no one but him gets to hear. His lips form a suction around your clit, hand pressing lightly on the top of your pelvis to muddle your words into nonsense.  

                  * Lingerie: Back in the day, he wasn’t able to experience any of this. When you first surprised him with blue lace lingerie, you couldn’t walk for about a week.                 

-  **Aftercare:** Steve will kiss you softly, arm wrapped around your waist as you lie on top of him, chin resting against his collarbone. Also, prolonged eye contact where you’ll just stare at each other, enjoying the other’s company. 

_I love you._

_I love you too._

_How’d I manage you get you?_

_You were shirtless and sweaty the first time I met you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts? comments?


	3. Bucky Barnes sex headcanons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How sex with Bucky Barnes would be like.

-  **When:** Whenever. It takes the smallest of things (like dim lighting, slow music etc.) to get him in the mood. The moment that this happens, he’’ll half-drag you out of the room, causing you to protest because you’ve been pulled out of a conversation and earning a wink from Natasha. He’ll physically be unable keep his hands off, pushing you against the wall of the elevator door and pressing his lips to yours in a feverish kiss before you can manage to tell FRIDAY to kindly turn off the cameras and disable the doors until you got to your floor. And when the elevator would arrive, he’d already have your panties in his back pocket, flesh arm around your waist as he swung you over his shoulder, your fists banging playfully on his back, a gentle, boyish smirk playing on his lips as he hears your giggles and catches a whiff of your arousal.

-  **Location:** His bedroom. That way, he doesn’t feel any obligation to get up early the next morning. And also, you get to steal his clothes. ( ~~That happens anyway, no matter where intimate actions are initiated.~~ )

-  **Why:** Something has got him in the mood. Tony’s parties usually do the trick. And also you wearing his shirts. 

**\- Noise level:** Fairly silent. The only sounds that fill the room are soft grunts and the occasional mewl of his name stumbling from your lips. 

And then, there are times where Bucky is having a bad day…and you trust him enough to let his take his frustrations out on you. 

**\- Position:** Missionary. He loves the feeling of your nails dragging down his back, marking him just as he had marked you

-  **Rough? Gentle? :** It’s been such a long time since Bucky has had the confidence or the belief in himself to think himself as anything other than a weapon. But with the soft kisses that you press against his lips, your hands entwined with his, both flesh and metal, he becomes eager to please, his want growing steadily as his hands begin to wander, exploring the soft skin that has been revealed. 

Then, there are times when he’ll take you against a wall, despite the bed being two feet away. Paintings will fall to ground, their frames cracking but he won’t care and neither will you because both of you are so caught up in the feel of wandering hands, feverish skin, and rough kisses, the sounds of his possessive growls filling the room. 

-  **Activities:**

*** mUlTiplE oRgasM:** The promise he’s made himself is to make you reach your high at least once before you take him in, your cries of his name filling the room. And if you haven’t orgasmed a total of two times before the end, you can always count on his hot tongue delving back into your core, causing your back to arch off the mattress.

               * Nicknames: Baby girl, Doll, Darling and from your side: Sarge, Soldier, Buck. 

               * **DIRTY TALK:** The things that Bucky will say to get you squirming underneath….he adores the way that your face gets hot and your eyes darken, inviting him to continue.

               *Round two? Always.

 -  **Aftercare:** The two of you will take a long bath together, hands rubbing sweaty skin slowly to wash the sweat off and lather soap, massaging the exhausted muscles as the water loses warmth steadily. And when you’re done, he’ll dry you two off, carrying you to the bed and setting you down before climbing in after you, arm pulling you close and lips pressing soft kisses to your forehead.


	4. Caution [Bucky Barnes]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he’s everything that your mother’s warned you about. good thing then, that you never listened to her. (bucky barnes x reader)

Bucky is everything that your mother has warned you about. Darkened inviting eyes. Crooked smiles. And those lips. Those fucking sinful lips, upturned in that smirk that made your breath catch in your throat…

Of course, that doesn’t warrant for the predatory gazes that are being thrown your way, as if you’re the one concrete detail in the chaos of one of Stark’s parties, setting some sort of unquenchable fire shooting through your body, originating from the apex of your thighs.  

It’s almost as if he’s devouring you with those blue-grey irises of his, darkened with lust. And you’re not one to admit that you’re doing the same, your own eyes taking in the defined curve of his jaw, the tilt of his lips that would look so damn good on you.

He catches your eyes, the damn bastard does. But you don’t look away. You can’t. Not when his tongue darts out to lick his lips, azure eyes glinting mischievously in the dim lighting of the room, only highlighting the vulgarity of the action.

He doesn’t look away either. Not when your finger circles the lip of your beer bottle, gathering the condensation resulting from the warmth of your hand making contact with the cold glass, bringing your finger up to your painted lips, tongue darting out to lick the water off.

You swear that you can hear the low growl that leaves his lips, even from this distance with the music blaring loudly, the air crackling with electric tension. You see him get off his barstool, eyes still not leaving yours.

Setting down your own drink, all thoughts of finishing it vanishing from your mind, already intoxicated from the mere thought of having Bucky’s hands all over you.  

He’s walking out, his frame rigid as he leaves the party to the secluded silence of the hallway beyond, safe from the onslaught of scantily clad women eyeing him like he’d eyed you.

You follow, shaking hands adjusting your dress, pulling it as far as it would go past your knees.

The hallway’s empty by the time you’ve found your way through the crowd of dancing bodies, sliding past with difficulty at everyone’s closeness, no heed paid to decency. But really, what had you expected? It was a Stark party. It happens.

Casting one last and relieved glance back at the party, your feet are carrying you swiftly down the hall, eyes scanning your surroundings for any sign of Bucky.

That is… until you find yourself pinned to a wall quicker than you can react, two darkened blue eyes boring into your own, Bucky’s body in extremely close proximity to yours, your chest brushing his with every breath as your lips parted to attempt an explanation for your venturing away from the party.

He doesn’t ask. But you still answer, your voice shaking.

But with his reply to your words, you can’t help that spark that shoots through you, causing you to stiffen against the wall.

“You’re absolutely sure that’s all you left the party for, doll?”

Of-fucking-course not.

Your only response is to gulp, eyes never daring to even shift fractionally from his own. Your mouth opens to respond.

Only, there’s no need to. He understands. He knows.

And he’s kissing you, soft, damned luscious lips pressing insistently upon yours. You don’t really have much of a choice but to melt against him, unable to quell your own desire.

You’re kissing him and he’s kissing you. And one thing’s evident.  _It’s even better than you’d imagined._

You tilt your head back up, lips pressing ever closer to his, your eager hands sliding up the expanse of his built chest, meandering on their journey to his hair, exploring every define curve of his torso, reveling in the feel of the hardened muscles which tense at your touch.

His hair is softer than you could’ve ever thought, your fingers tangling in the supple strands as you break the kiss, breaths coming in short gasps.

“Bedroom.” You manage to gasp out. With that one word, you’re suddenly thrown over his shoulder, a surprised cry leaving your lips at the sudden position you find yourself in.

“Bucky put me down!” You hiss, hitting his back. A low growl leaves his mouth before you feel a sharp pain stem from your inner thigh from where the bastard had slapped you, causing you to bite down harshly on your bottom lip to silence the lewd moan that threatened to spill.

You manage somehow to only huff in response, not saying anything as he carries you to his room. It’s militaristic. He doesn’t own anything much besides what he’s walked into the Tower with. Probably more clothes, though. But for the moment, you find yourself wishing that he owned less clothing. Laundry days would’ve been a blessing.

You’re not sure why the fuck you’re thinking about his room…well his clothes or lack thereof, but within seconds your mind shifts to the gorgeous man hovering over you. Hell, you hadn’t even felt him put you down on his bed but you don’t really care, the heat of his body caging you in, the scent of something strikingly like cinnamon and distinctly like  _him_  filling your every sense.

He stares. You stare too.

And then you pull him down into a deep kiss, tongue tracing along the outline of his lips. He groans against the pressure of your lips, the sound muffled, both metal and flesh hands, falling to the edge of your dress, tugging it up and off with little difficulty. You can swear that you can see his eyes darken at least four shades, the blue of his irises almost fully consumed by his desire-filled pupils as his eyes rake over your frame, taking in every imperfection that you hated about yourself.  

His voice is hoarse, “ _Fuck._ Are you even real?”

You laugh. And perhaps, that’s not the best reaction because a flash of worry crosses his face.

“You have a half-naked woman in your bed and you’re asking her if she exists?” You tease. His lips tug upwards in that smirk that causes you to try to rub your thighs together. Your attempt fails because he’s nestled in between your legs, arms holding the top half of his body off you.

“Well, you see, if I’ve got a goddess in bed, I’ve got to make sure I’m not having a wet dream, don’t I, doll?”

_Damn, he has a way with his words._

Any witty reply is lost in the recesses of your mind, clouded with want as he leans down, pressing the softest of kisses along your jaw, his lips barely making contact with your skin. Your eyes shut in bliss, a barely audible sigh leaving your lips. That is, until his teeth graze over your pulse point, having descended to your neck.

A moan spills from your lips, causing his erection to twitch against his thigh, straining against the material of his pants. Your hips jerk upwards into his. He bites back a moan, controlling himself as he kisses his way lower, lips dragging over your skin, pressing everywhere and nowhere at once.

At the pressure of his mouth against your hip bones, the light drag of his teeth against the waistband of your panties, your eyes snap open, catching his own hungry ones. Insistent fingers tug at your panties and your hips lift off the mattress to help him. You gulp. He’s eyeing you like prey, your legs now spread, baring your core completely to him. One of his fingers slid  _so goddamn slowly_ up your right legs, finding its way to your core, sliding up and down, gathering your wetness. A soft moan leaves your lips, eyes shutting once more.

“Eyes on me.” The command rings through the air, causing your entire body to flush as you force your eyes open, looking down at him, breath catching in your throat simply at how sinful he looked.

At the first swipe of his tongue, you bite your lip.

At the second, you’re moaning.

Then, he dives in, his tongue flattening out over the entire surface of your pussy, bathing your wetness in its warmth.

You’re gasping his name, thighs quivering within moments.

Your eyes close.

He stops.

“ _James.”_ The plea is desperate. Bucky smirks at the sound of his name. He’s enjoying this too fucking much, he knows that but he can’t help but take pleasure in the fact that it’s  _him_ that’s got you like  _that._

 _“_ Eyes. On. Me.” Same words, same reaction from you. You gulp, forcing your eyes open, once again looking down at him. He’s licking his lips, the bastard, that smirk refusing to fade.

Bucky’s on you again, fingers parting your folds as his lips form a tight suction around your clit, which he’d succeeded in finding fairly quickly. A mewl of pleasure leaves your lips, eyes struggling to stay open and on him.

His name leaves your lips in repetitive moans, loud. It’s almost like a prayer, begging, pleading,  _wanting._

You’re going to tumble off that cliff to your high soon, your grip tightening on the bed sheets, pulling harshly at them.

Your eyes close again.

He stops again.

You swear at him. He smirks and licks his lips free of your arousal.

“I hate you.”

“Sure, you do.” And with that he’s back over you, kissing you again, tongue already intruding into your mouth, wrestling with yours. Your right hand releases the sheets, opting instead to tug at Bucky’s locks, tugging at the strands to earn groans from him. You hadn’t noticed that he’d gotten undressed, not until your other hand slid up his body, traveling over every inch of now bare skin, sliding over scars hidden.

He shifts, the head of his cock rubbing against your wet folds, sliding but not yet penetrating. Shaky moans leave both your lips and fuck, if it’s not the hottest thing you’ve heard leave his mouth.

His hips pick up slightly, your arousal coating the entire length of his cock.

“James, please.” You’re nearly begging at this point, too needy to even care.

“Please, what?” His voice is strained. It’s easy to tell that he’s trying to hold back. But the thing is…you don’t want him to hold back.

“I need you.” No, it’s not a want anymore. You need him like you need air to breathe, your every sense already filled with him but  _you need more of him_ , and you can’t help it.

Bucky seems to sense your desperation as his hand slips between the minuscule space between your bodies, guiding his cock to your entrance and pushing in ever so gently, making sure you felt every inch of him, causing a lewd moan to spill from your lips.

He gives you a moment to adjust, your nails digging into his shoulders. That’s encouragement enough for him to set a slow pace, hips moving gently, his cock thrusting into your heat repeatedly.

Your back arches off the bed, legs spread wide to allow his hips to nestle between them. Consecutive moans in the form of his name leave your lips, ones that he leans down to kiss again, his pace increasing with every passing second. He shifts, now angling himself so that his right hip brushes your clit with every inward thrust.

This results in a loud swear from you, muffled against his smirking lips, nails dragging down his back, almost harshly enough to draw blood.

He groans against your mouth, the sensation of your nails onto topping off the pleasure of your walls fluttering around him, the only sounds filling the room being both your moans and the absurd smack of skin against skin.

His pace doesn’t falter. Not when you cry out his name louder than ever before, trying to warn him of your impending orgasm. Not when you break the kiss, eyes shut tightly as your head falls back into the pillows, entire body burning.  _He doesn’t falter._

And you can’t believe the pleasure shooting through your veins, sending you tumbling off that cliff to your orgasm.

You come crying out his name as if it’s the one thing you know, nails digging into his shoulders. He doesn’t stop, the vice grip that your walls have around his cock causing his own orgasm to descend upon him, a long moan leaving his lips.

You’re left gasping from your orgasm, his continuing thrusts milking his own. He pulls out and gets off of you. You don’t notice the warmth of the cloth that he uses to clean you up, too dazed from his actions to even think.

Bucky’s own smile is soft, mind still not having registered the fact that someone as beautiful as you had even bothered to acquaint yourself with him, much less want  _this_ with him.

He climbs back into the bed, arm wrapping around your waist to pull you close as you regain your senses.

“Oh my god.” At these words, his rich laughter fills your ears, bringing a smile to your face, blood rushing to your face as he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“That bad?” He teases, taking a long inhale, your scent mingling with his.

“Shut up.”

He only smiles in response, arm tightening around you.

You’re glad that you didn’t listen to your mom.


	5. Breathless [Bucky Barnes]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bucky's a fucking tease. he knows that. he's got no intention of stopping. (bucky barnes x reader)

The feeling of his both his hands, metal and flesh is something else entirely, skimming over your sides just barely making contact with your skin, his startlingly blue eyes never leaving your own and that fucking sinful smirk of his never leaving his face at having you completely and utterly doomed to succumb to pleasure under him.

“James, stop teasing.” Is the only demand that leaves your lips, a moan stifled by nothing but your crumbling will as his teeth graze over your pulse point. It’s before that you can even open your mouth again to protest that his metal hand slips in between your legs, so fucking close to where you want him but not quite there yet.

His eyes catch yours again, refusing to break the contact, intimacy rising levels higher because of the simple action. His mouth lowers, so goddamn slowly, closing around your already hard nipple, the sensation of his warm mouth causing your eyes to roll back, back arching off the mattress. His name leaves your lips in a broken whisper, eyes shut tightly as his tongue finally makes contact with the stiffened bud, circling it languidly, a gentle pressure applied. His flesh hand works your other breast as he works his mouth over your chest.

The softest gasp leaves your lips as his fingers make contact with your aching core, fingertips moving ever so slowly against your folds, the arousal seeping from you coating the entire length of his dexterous fingers.

His mouth breaks from your breast, lips traveling up from your chest to your lips but not leaving your skin for more than the span of a heartbeat the entire journey back to your lips. His kiss is long, tongue finding its way easily into your mouth, tangling passionately with yours, muffling your sounds of bliss as his thumb finds your clit, a finger thrusting upwards into you. A sharp cry leaves your lips in the form of his name, his only response to the sound being the upwards twitch of his lips as he continues to kiss you desperately. The cool metal of his finger soothes the burn of your core as he continues to thrust it in and out, working you closer and closer towards your release as he adds another finger.

You’re quick to take the jump off the cliff, falling head-first into your first orgasm of the night despite being on the edge from his relentless teasing for the past hour. Your skin is hot, burning even at his touch as you open your eyes, just in time to watch his fingers find their way to his mouth, lips wrapping around them to lick your orgasm off them, the softest groan leaving his lips at the taste of you.

You can’t help the way that you bite your lip at the vulgar action, eyes darkening in invitation for him to continue.

It’s with the low growl that claws its way up his throat that you know this is going to be a long night for you.


	6. Insatiable [Bucky Barnes]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bucky simply can't get enough of you. (bucky barnes x reader)

_“Sarge.”_ The title leaves your lips in a whispered plea, barely audible against his low moan, hands tightening their grip on your thighs.

He’s got you so fucking breathless against the bed, back arching off the soft material of the bedsheets, your eager hands tugging at the supple strands of hair, trying to guide his head where you wanted it.

Bucky’s tongue glides languidly over your pussy, taking its time reveling in the taste of you, completely avoiding your clit. He looks up at you, taking in the sight of how utterly  _wrecked_ you look, chest heaving, your head thrown back against the pillow. He can’t help the twitch of his cock at the view, enjoying it immensely.  With his hands on the back of your thighs, he pulls you flush against his mouth, earning a sharp cry of his name.

His name leaves you lips like a prayer,  _begging_ for him to keep going. It’s without warning that his metal fingers find their way to your heated core, the bite of the cool metal causing your hips to jerk away from his mouth. His only response is to pull you impossibly closer, the tip of his nose brushing  _so fucking lightly_ over your clit, your hand tightening on his hair, your heels digging into his shoulder blades.

_Bucky. Bucky. Bucky._

He swears that his name has never sounded so damned beautiful, falling from your lips endlessly,  _breathlessly._

Bucky can’t help but be proud of how helpless you look, reveling in the fact that it’s by his, and only his doing that you’re caught in this state, so fucking  _vulnerable_ to what  _he’s_ doing _._

You’re close. So close to tumbling head-first off that cliff. He can tell, his mouth only growing more hungry for you, refusing to stop his ministrations. His lips form a suction around your clit, forming a harsh pressure on the bundle of nerves that has you reeling into your orgasm, thighs quivering around his head.

He smirks, tongue catching all that you had to offer, moaning at the taste of you. After a minute, successfully having cleaned you up, he leans back slightly, breath still tickling your sensitive core, darkened blue eyes looking up at your own dazed ones.

After a moment, you’ve calmed down, breathing still slightly uneven.

The bastard only smirks at your state, knowing that you didn’t expect what was coming.

He leans forward again, tongue sliding between the lips of your over-sensitive core.

“You really think I’d be done with you that quick, darlin’?”


	7. Just Friends [Bucky Barnes]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the deal was clear: no feelings. (bucky barnes x reader)

**Part 1**

 

Nothing but the sound of both your moans fill the electric air of the room, crackling with tension, hands never ceasing their movements.

Bucky’s hands are everywhere and nowhere at the same, trying to memorize every curve of your body, his hips slamming repeatedly into the crux of your thighs, your welcoming warmth  _pulling_ him into you, his senses filled with  _you_ and nothing but  _you._

His name sounds sweet on your lips, musical even, holding him captive the gentle roll of the syllable leaving your mouth in repetitive succession as it if were the one thing that you knew how to say,  _how to remember._

He’s missed this, the sensation of you, the sounds of your pleasure-dazed words. He’s missed your kisses, your voice. He’s missed  _you._

Of course, there’s no way in hell that he’d admit that. He’s much too…he’s much too  _Bucky_ to admit that. That was the deal after all.  _No feelings._

He’s unable to look away, taking in the flush of your body, the heaving of your chest, your parted lips, wild hair, words  _begging_ him to keep going. He doesn’t stop, continuing in his movements, finding it difficult to get enough of you.

Leaning down, he’s kissing you, stealing your breath with the insistent press of his lips upon your own,  _pressing pressing pressing._ Your own hands find their way into his hair, tugging at the strands, his tongue already finding its way into your mouth, lips gliding languidly over yours in a lustful kiss.

He shifts slightly, attempting to get impossibly closer to you and thrusting into you at a new angle, the tip of his cock catching something  _burning_ within you, causing you to break the kiss, back arching off the mattress, a sharp cry of his name leaving your lips.

Smirking, his pace only picks up, the wet sounds of his hips slamming into your hips vulgar. He can feel your walls clench around him, nails dragging down his back, marking him up just as he’d done to you, “You gonna come for me, darlin’? You gonna come all over my fuckin’ cock?”

Your only response is to whimper an incoherent phrase, the words sending you reeling into an orgasm. Walls fluttering around his cock, you cling to him tightly through his continuing thrusts, his own orgasm following soon after, hot strings of his release filling you.

You’re still left gasping as he pulls out and rolls to the side, heavy breaths echoing in symphony with your own.

“Fuck.” The word leaves your lips breathlessly, eyes still dazed as you looked at the ceiling.

“My, my, aren’t you insatiable?” He teases, still struggling to form the words, a light sheen of sweat covering his body.

“Go to hell.” You mumble, despite the small smile playing on your lips as you force yourself off the bed, standing on shaky legs as you get dressed.

“Thought I just took you to heaven, doll?” Bucky retorts cockily, smirking as his eyes linger on your body, taking the marks he’d left. The smirk falters momentarily. You’re not his. Not in any sense of the word. You’re not his.

He wishes you were but you don’t belong to him any more than he does to you.

_No feelings._

The words repeat endlessly in his head as you pull on your shirt, hands working your hair back into a presentable state.

“Good night, Buck.” And with that, you’re making your way towards the door, focusing on being able to walk, the memory of Bucky’s hands all over you still fresh in your mind.

“Stay.” The syllable hands in the air, filling it with a different sort of tension as you pause, hand resting on the doorknob.

“You know I can’t.” He doesn’t reply. He knows. He knows the deal.

You stand a little longer than you should as you open the door, offering him one last glance.

You know the deal.

_No feelings._

 

**Part 2**

 

The walls are gray.

It’s the same gray that steals your breath, seeping into your skin to taint you with its color. 

It’s the same gray of his arm, glistening in the meager light of the room, planted next to your head to keep his weight off you. 

You should’ve painted them. 

A nice, calming blue maybe?  
_The color of his eyes._  

The soft sigh that leaves your lips isn’t audible to the untrained ear, leaving the hopeless sound to dissipate into  _nothing_. 

It could be the lingering feel of his hands all over your body, leaving you with no probable defense against his ministrations. Or maybe, it’s the memory of the singular lushness of his lips pressing insistently upon yours, no hesitation in his movements as his warm wetness of his tongue swipes your bottom lip. 

You’re in too fucking deep. You know that and yet, you can’t help but brush your fingers over your swollen lips, the taste of something distinctly  _Bucky_ still lingering on your tongue. 

The marks he’s left on the sensitive skin of your neck hurt in the way that wraps an invisible hand around your heart, squeezing relentlessly until you’re left gasping for air, struggling to fill your lungs with the precious gas. Because some  _absolutely fucking insan_ e part of you wishes that those kisses, those touches, those glances meant -

_Something._

_~~~_

It’s the endless hours after you leave that Bucky finds himself unable to relax, much less sleep. Because  _every goddamn time_  that he closes his eyes, he sees chaos. 

And it’s beautiful. 

Utterly devastating. 

It smiles a beautiful smile, all crinkled eyes and whispered promises. 

He won’t admit it. Not even to himself but he  _likes_ this chaos, this side of you.

All that time spent feeling your skin against his own, the smooth pads of your fingers skimming over each plate of his metal arm, a look of complete and utter fascination in your eyes,  _it’s not enough._

He’d been an idiot to accept the deal. The entire  _no feelings_ bullshit was something that he regretted every time you pressed that gentle kiss to his brow, lips barely brushing his skin, whispering an almost inaudible  _Goodnight, Buck._

An idiot desperate for your touch, desperate for you in  _every fucking sense of the word_  but an idiot nonetheless. 

Maybe he should’ve just said  _Fuck, I love you so fuckin’ much and I don’t know what the hell to do._

Maybe he should’ve just held you close anyway despite your protests that you had somewhere to be, somewhere to go. 

Maybe he should’ve done this, maybe that. 

_Should’ve._

It’s not something he’s proud of. But he’s not one to refuse it when he finds you in his bed, night after night. 

~~~

You’re not sure why you find yourself in the soft sheets that smell like him, that feel like home. But it’s this  _pull_ that draws you back into his presence day after day, night after night. 

But it’s without question that he kisses you once more, not even air daring to intrude between your lips. It’s gentle and you find yourself succumbing to his every touch, every defense against him crumbling like dry clay in a toddler’s hands. 

It’s impossible to focus on one thing because his lips are soft and his hands don’t stop. He’s engulfing you and you’re welcoming him as if he’s the very air you’re struggling to take in as if he’s a drug you’ve been craving. 

And it’s destructive. 

The cries that leave you lips echo in symphony with the moans that leave his, resounding in your ears, seared to memory, tainting you with purpose,  _burning._

It takes an entire minute for you to pretend to catch your breath because some  _irrational_ part of you is begging you to  _stay._

And it’s a mistake on your part. The deal stands. But Bucky knows what he has to do. 

He watches closely, eyes glazing over bruises  _he_  has left, skin  _he_  has kissed.

The words spill out in an inaudible whisper before he can stop them, lips moving with the syllables but no sound exiting.

_I love you._

The doors closes, your usual dismissal leaving your lips smoothly,

“Goodnight, Buck.”


	8. Warmth [Bucky Barnes]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bath time with bucky. (bucky barnes x reader)

The steam from the bath is thick, relaxing every muscle in your body, eyes closing. The warmth of Bucky’s chest against your back serves only to send you into a dazed reverie, the gentle pressure of his embrace welcome.

A small smile remains on your lips as his lips press a gentle kiss to your shoulder, shifting slightly underneath you to allow the two of you to lie impossibly closer. A soft sigh leaves your lips at the contact, leaning back further against his frame.

As far as you can remember, times like this, don’t last long. With the ever looming threat of destruction, finding yourself in the arms of a loved one, with the gentlest yet most  _beautiful_ of smiles tugging at your lips, didn’t happen often. There was something akin to  _promise_ that the peace wouldn’t last.

And Bucky knows. He doesn’t say so but there remains no need to. His actions say enough. His grip tightens on you fractionally as your thigh nudges his already half-hard cock, kisses traveling higher along your shoulder, teeth nipping lightly at the sensitive skin.

You scoff lightly, unable to fight off the smirk playing on your lips. Maybe he hears it, maybe he doesn’t. But for the moment, he doesn’t seem to give a damn, taking his time to memorize every imperfection of you that he considered perfection. You don’t protest instead, tilting your head back to capture his lips in a gentle kiss.

His lips are chapped. Soft still, but chapped from a recent mission. The roughness is a perfect contrast to the gentleness of his hands moving over your body, the feel of the smooth metal of his left arm an anchor.

Bucky holds you like glass, liable to break in his hands yet easy to shape. You’re accustomed to his touch, his sense of unsureness of his movements, his need for some sort of guidance.

It’s a soft permission of three words that leave your lips that give him all the reassurance he needs, “It’s okay, Buck.” Maybe it’s the tone of your voice or the guidance of his hand to your left breast, but it’s  _enough._

His lips press harder against yours, hungry in their quest to taste you. The sheer emotion that lies beneath the simple contact earns a low moan from you, just as his thumb begins to run circles around your nipple, working the nub to hardness.

You’re forced to break the kiss with a gasp as he pinches your nipple, causing your body to jerk harshly against his. The groan that leaves his lips at the friction, your eyes glinting with mischief as you roll your hips into his in an attempt to tease him like he’s teased you so far.

And yet, it’s one battle that you’re bound to lose. His metal hand slips between your legs, fingers sliding through your folds languidly. A soft whimper leaves your lips, legs opening to allow him easier access to you. It’s the first sign of his victory.

He’s careful to keep you  _wanting,_ the smooth metal pads of his fingers gathering your wetness, moving through the cooling water with utmost precision. You grip onto his arm, taking slow breaths to calm yourself.

Bucky’s lips begin to wander again, biting at your neck, tongue easing the sting as his fingers continue to work over you. It’s not enough, the slight friction leaving you craving for more.

“Bucky,  _come on._ ” It’s the sound of utter  _submission_ that convinces him to give you what you want, one of his fingers pressing into you as his thumb found your clit, his other hand bluntly refusing to stop its ministrations on your breast, manipulating the soft flesh easily.

A short, sharp cry leaves your lips at the intrusion, hips bucking into his fingers.

He chuckles, the sound low, sending a spark of  _something_ through you that only keeps you on edge through the thrusting of his finger, adding another in gradually, your walls fluttering around their thickness.

He bites your shoulder, making sure to leave a mark that he  _knew_ would last for a while, that he  _knew_ you would struggle to cover up. The pain, mingling wonderfully with the pleasure earns him a loud moan, your grip on his metal arm tightening, struggling to find any sort of purchase on it.

It’s clear that he finds pride in the sounds leaving your lips. It’s completely by his doing that you’re like  _that,_ and he fucking  _loves_ it.

His fingers curl, catching something  _soft_ and  _electric_ within you, nails digging into his arm, thighs quivering, chest heaving. Your eyes are shut tightly, senses filled with every essence of  _him._ And it’s  _wonderful._

Bucky doesn’t stop, the warmth in your stomach spreading throughout your entire body. You’re struggling to stay still, water spilling over the edge of the tub, but you can’t find it in yourself to  _care_ because you’re  teetering on the edge between mind-numbing pleasure and consciousness. It’s really not that hard of a choice, your bottom lip trapped between your teeth to keep yourself silent.

Your orgasm arrives within seconds, washing over you in waves of pleasure, causing your breath to catch in your throat, grip not loosening on his arm.

He’s got a grin on his face, crooked, the smallest sliver of his teeth visible. It’s  _proud._

He gives you a moment to relax, fingers working their way gently out of you, making you jerk at the contact against your over-sensitive pussy.

Blame it on the warm atmosphere or the fading steam but it doesn’t take very long for you to calm down, already craving more of  _him._ He’s quick to catch on, his cock almost painfully hard as it rests against your thigh, his lips eager as they press to yours hungrily, swallowing your moans.

The bath doesn’t help the two of you to get  _clean_ at all.


	9. Touch [Bucky Barnes]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bucky masturbating.

It’s been a while since he’s been greeted with a gentle touch, accustomed to harsh slaps. So, when your fingers first brush over his, he can’t help but stiffen, some dark part of his mind going immediately to all the ways that the hands on him could hurt him.

Of course, the blow he’s expecting doesn’t come, instead replaced by the playful ruffle of his hair, strands falling on his face as he meets your eyes, “Here’s your coffee, Buck. I’ll see you later.”

And with that, you’re off to  _wherever the hell you go_ , and he’s left alone with his thoughts once more, the feeling of your touch seeping into his senses like spilled ink.

 _It’s wrong. Completely fucking wrong._ He thinks vaguely, however, still unable to help the straining of his cock, hidden in the confines of his jeans.

Maybe, he’s a little embarrassed at how little it takes from you to get him going. But he can’t help the fact that he  _has_ to do  _something_ to alleviate the stress. And he can’t erase the thought of you from his head, from the gentle brush of your fingers to the sway of your hips to the curve of your ass.

And it’s overwhelming, his senses filled with nothing but  _you._

Bucky won’t admit it, his desperation for you evidently clear in his pants, but -

He won’t admit the fact that late at night, it’s not nightmares that have got him sweating and awake. It’s the sound of your moans, sounding  _too fucking real_ that have his pants tight, a light sheen of sweat covering his chest -  the thought of your lips wrapped around his cock, wide,  _innocent_ eyes staring up at him as he thrusts into your mouth, hand tangling in your hair to guide you.

His boxers come off, he takes them off heavy-handedly, not bothering to even think for a moment that he might tear the material. There’s already a stain on them from the pre-cum leaking from his tip, “ _Shit._ ”

He finds himself with his cock in his flesh hand, his thumb pressing to his slit, teasing himself like  _he knows_ you’d tease him. His movements are slow at first, the fist of his hand working up and down his length. A low moan leaves his lips, filling the silence of the room as he fists his cock.

Bucky wishes that it was your moan, some  _filthy and fucking needy_ part of him wondering how you’d sound  _because of him_. He’d love that, relishing in the sweet,  _soft_ sound as he’d lean down, kissing you lustfully, tongue already working its way into your mouth. He recalls the sound of your voice, smooth and collected as you’d handed him his coffee mere hours ago - it had almost tasted sweeter since it had been made by your hand.

It’s with that thought in mind that he realizes maybe you’d taste just as sweet. It wouldn’t take much to hold you down, metal arm pinning your hips to  _whatever surface_ he’s got on you on, mouth working over everything you had to offer, lips wrapping around your clit. Your hips would fight against his hold, legs thrown over his shoulders to keep you in an even more vulnerable position than before. Maybe you’d cry out his name for everyone to know who you belonged to.

He knows, with crippling certainty, that you’d have your hands in his hair, tugging harshly at the strands, legs trying to close around his head - he got a taste of that this morning.

His thumb swipes over his slit, wiping away the pre-cum dripping from his tip, a swear leaving his lips, as his metal hand tangled in the sheets, “ _Fuck.”_

Bucky can’t seem to get the image of your closed eyes out of his head, face contorted in pleasure, his name leaving your lips in a breathless plea.

Some small, still sane part of him knows that he’s in  _too fucking deep_ , yet knowing he can’t help the dryness of his mouth, lips parted to let the moans of your name escape him, swearing loudly as his fist tightens in the sheets, flesh hand not stopping its ministrations on his cock.

He’d have to take him time with you, fighting with himself to not  _fucking take you_ , like he’d wanted to so many fucking times. You’d moan, pretty lips parting,  _wanting_ , wordlessly begging for his cock between them, only further fueling his need to  _have_ you.

Giving you a moment to adjust, he’d watch your face, committing the sight of tinted cheeks and shut eyes to memory, experimentally rolling his hips into yours to test your reaction. He’d be rewarded with a slight hitch in your breath - it’d be enough.

Biting harshly at the sensitive skin of your neck, he’d leave marks for you to hide later, increasing the pace slowly, nothing but the sound of wet skin slapping against wet skin filling the air of the room.

He’d catch something  _soft and electric_ within you, his pace  _bruising_ as his hand would slip between your legs, thumb circling your clit as he watched his cock disappear in you, and you’d shudder, nails digging into his shoulder, lips parting to  _scream_ his name, thighs quivering as your orgasm washed over you with the force of a tidal wave and you’d kiss him to muffle your shout and  _that_ -

That would have your walls squeezing his cock, milking his orgasm from him as strings and strings of his cum filled you, hips slowing gradually to prolong the pleasure - 

Bucky moans, fist tightening around his cock, an inexplicable warmth filling his every nerve. Relishing in the rough drag of his calloused palm, a low hiss leaves his lips, teeth gritting together as his thumb presses against his tip, tracing gentle circles around the sensitive head.

His jaw clenches, a strained growl leaving his lips as the warm turns to  _fire,_ strings of hot cum covering his fist, back arching off the mattress.

He’s lost in the pleasured reverie, collapsing on the bed, wanting nothing more than to feel the gentle warmth of your touch, to feel your body against his.

He feels no shame in the kind of touch he craves.


	10. Desire [Bucky Barnes]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> how a certain super-soldier feels about you. based off 50 Cent's Candy Shop (bucky barnes x reader)

The thing about Bucky Barnes is that he’s distracting. From the blue-greyness of his eyes to the sleek metal of his arm, he catches you completely off guard.

But if there’s one thing that’s  _impossible_ to get out of your head, it’s the fact that his eyes haven’t fucking left you all night, almost like a cat watching a cornered mouse -

In this instance, you’re not sure who’s who because you have Natasha’s assurance that you look like a fucking  _bombshell_ but -

It still makes your breath catch in your throat because his eyes are filled with something strong and fierce and  _completely indescribable._ As far as you know, he’s never looked at you like  _that_ before. You’re not completely sure you hate it, at least not as much as you hate him.

The other thing about Bucky Barnes is that he’s  _frustrating._ It’s one of his talents really - to get under your skin without even trying. No, it’s not the fact that he’s never talked to you  _a single goddamn time,_ but rather the fact that he’s a temptation that you  _want_ to succumb to, a sin you want to commit.

You down your whiskey, staining your tongue with its flavor as you revel in the sting of the alcohol as it goes down your throat. It makes you feel  _warm_  but whether it’s because of the alcohol or because of Bucky, you’re not sure.

The fog of both cigarette and artificial smoke fill the air, wrapping him in gray robes of alluring promise. You’re barely able to force your eyes away, your bottom lip held hostage by your teeth.

Had he been looking at you like that a few hours ago, a few less drinks ago, you might’ve had the dignity to force your gaze away a while ago instead of staring dumbly for as long as you had been.

And maybe, that’s your first mistake - looking away.

You shoot the bartender a look, wordlessly asking for another drink.

He’s quick to deliver, but not as quick as your eyes are to seek out Bucky again as he pours more whiskey into your glass.

Your lips crinkle a frown at his absence. You could’ve sworn you hadn’t looked away for more than a minute. So when you hear the gruff tone of his voice ordering a drink, you stiffen because he’s standing  _just_ a little closer than normal.

Your eyes widen, tongue subconsciously darting out to lick your lips as his hand brushes yours. His closeness engulfs you  _completely,_ and sets some sort of fire racing through your nerves, thighs pressing close together, almost as if of their own free will.

Maybe, he notices. You can swear at his lips twitch upwards in a  _deliberate_ smirk. You take another sip of your drink, trying to gain some control over your body.

In that moment, you’re sure that you’re willing to submit to your  _need_ , craving his touch.

You manage a shaky breath and his smirk transforms into something completely  _feral._

You gulp because the one second is all that it takes for you to understand how deep your need to be  _taken_ by him ran.

He smells of fire and alcohol, a dangerous combination, and yet, one that you’re willing to dabble in. You wonder - with what little part of your mind that’s still sane - how he would taste.

“Can I get you a drink, sweetheart?”

And maybe, you  _do_ have some authority over your speech because you know  _exactly_ how to respond, “Of course, Sarge.”

~~~

“Come ‘ere, darlin,’” He’s got a crooked grin on his lips, tongue darting out to wet them as he beckons you closer with nothing but his words, form relaxed and  _powerful_ , strength hidden within the sloping lines of his body.

You find yourself unable to control your body, walking forward and stopping right in front of him.

Standing in the chilled air of the room, you want to focus on the warmth his hands as they slide down the length of your legs, but his eyes have you held captive, swirling with a darkness that looks downright dangerous, as if he has every intention to  _ruin_ you -

You’re entirely sure that you’d let him.

Bucky pulls you down onto his lap, relishing in the soft gasp of surprise that had forced its way out of your mouth at feeling the thick,  _hard_ outline of his cock, prominent even through his jeans.

He leans forward, lips brushing along the curvature of your jaw with utmost care, “You gonna be a good girl and get on your knees for me?”

“Yes, sir,” You  _want_ to disobey but with the way that he’s looking at you, you’re not sure if that’s the best option.

You slide off his lap, submitting to him as your hands rest on his thigh, loving the feeling of his tense muscle at your touch. You look up at him, eyes wide and  _fucking_ innocent as you lean forward, flicking the waistband of his pants against his skin.

He forces back a sound, biting his lip harshly, eyes flaring.

You’re eager, if anything to  _have_ him -

It doesn’t take you very long to get him out of his pants, pressing gentle kisses to his inner thighs.

“Eager, aren’t you?” His voice is strained, aching for the touch of your soft lips against his cock. It’s a test of patience, something that he’s usually been good at but something that he would rather not want to deal with at the moment.

_**I’ll take you to the candy shop** _

_**I’ll let you lick the lollipop** _

_**Go 'head girl don’t you stop** _

_**Keep going 'til you hit the spot** _

You can’t help the smirk tugging at your lips, stomach coiling in anticipation as you take his erection in your hand, pumping him in your hand before pressing the gentlest of kisses to the head of his cock.

Bucky watches you with the sort of fascination that lights embers in the pit of your stomach, causing a tingling warmth to spread through every nerve of your body.

Your eyes don’t leave his as you grip him, dragging your tongue up the side of his cock, tracing along the protruding vein on the underside of his length.

He moans, the sound wrecked and  _fucking beautiful._

It only encourages you more.

Kissing back up his length, you swirl your tongue around his tip, catching the pre-cum that had leaked from him, moaning at the taste that was entirely  _him._

His hand tangles in your hair, voice barely composed, “Good girl.”

Your eyes close at the praise as you take him in your mouth, wrapping your lips around his cock. Dragging your nails gently down his thighs, you take him deeper, bobbing your head around his length.

You feel his hand tighten in your hair, attempting to guide your head as his hips arch off the bed.

Bucky’s eyes don’t dare leave you, taking in everything from the shadows of your eyelashes on your cheeks to the perfect feel of your velvet tongue on him.

“Rise.” Until now, you’d never understood how deep your need to be owned by  _him_ ran, and he never understood how deep his need to be in control over  _you_  was.

You follow his instruction, eyes fluttering open to meet his darkened irises. Your eyes flicker momentarily downwards to his rigid cock resting against his stomach, the entire length of it covered in your saliva -

You can still taste him on your tongue.

And with the way he kisses you, need unparalleled by any other emotion, you know that he can too. The intensity forces a deep moan from you, lips parting to allow his tongue to slide into your mouth, tangling with yours in a passionate embrace.

With his hands resting on your hips, he flips the two of you over, his knee nestled between your legs. He breaks the kiss, lips finding their way immediately to the sensitive skin of your neck, “These are gonna have to come off, darlin’,”

Your hips rise off the bed of their own accord, allowing him to tug down the restricting material of your panties. His lips don’t dare leave your skin as he chuckles, the sound causing you to whine, impatient for his touch, “Bucky,  _please._ ”

He grins, as if it’s all that he needs before he stops, hovering over you, “What did you call me?”

You stare at him, eyes widening at your mishap, “ _Sarge_ , please _._ ”

Bucky doesn’t seem satisfied with your correction, lips working over your skin once more, “Only good girls get to come and  _you_ \- you haven’t been very good, have you?”

The words cause your breath to catch in your throat, a soft whine leaving your lips. He nips at your collarbone, causing you to bite back a moan.

His kisses his way down your body.

You’re not ready when he takes your nipple into his mouth, tongue swirling around the pert bud as his metal hand kneads your other breast, manipulating the soft skin ruthlessly.

You’d been keenly aware of your arousal while you’d had him in your mouth, but now -

Now, it came crashing down upon you like a wave you hadn’t been expecting, filling your senses with an  _electricity_ that you welcomed completely.

With just his mouth, he’s got you completely breathless, chest arching into his mouth, moans leaving your lips in soft, short gasps.

A sharp cry leaves your lips as he bites down with utmost care -

You love the feeling.

You’re unprepared when he pulls away.

_**I’ll take you to the candy shop** _

_**Boy, one taste of what I got** _

_**I’ll have you spending all you got** _

_**Keep going 'til you hit the spot** _

He’s got his eyes locked with yours, teeth grazing against your hip bone as he avoids your pussy. You’re almost afraid to look away, a choked moan leaving your lips as he presses a kiss to the outer lips of your pussy, leaning back seconds later to let cold air rush over your bare core, watching you closely.

His smile is feral.

It sends a flood of arousal through you, causing you to squirm on the bed.

Your hips arch off the bed as he licks up your slit, tongue barely making contact with your clit. A guttural groan forces its way out of your mouth.

“ _Please_.”

Your desperation doesn’t seem to register in his mind.

“Please what?”

“Please,  _Sarge._ ”

It gets his mouth back on you but still doesn’t get him where you want him to be, hips bucking up towards his face.

He nuzzles your inner thigh, “Hm, love it when you call me that.”

You bite your lip, struggling to keep still.

His tongue is hotter than you expect, nuzzling its way between your outer lips. Your hands fall immediately to his hair, tugging sharply at the strands -

The vibrations that result from his groan only add to the nearly overwhelming pleasure.

Bucky realizes - vaguely - that he’s high off the sounds you make, wanting to draw them out  _over and over and over_ again.

With his cock resting in his hand, he begins to pump it, moaning softly against your pussy. Still, he’s careful to keep you  _wanting,_ tongue making small circles against you,  _still_ avoiding your clit.

You feel a warmth begin to spread in the base of your stomach, sanity traversing the territory between reality and reverie.

His tongue presses up against you, tentatively pushing against your entrance, exploring.

He continues to work himself, fisting his cock with his flesh hand as he pins your hips down with his metal appendage, using its strength to keep you pinned.

You’re close, and with his renewed hunger, you’re certain that he  _knows_ -

He doesn’t stop. Not through the symphony of moans leaving your lips, not through the sharp tugging in his hair,  _he doesn’t stop._

You begin to panic, “No Sarge, I can’t, I can’t, nononono,  _Bucky_ ,  _I can’t_ \- ”

It’s short and sweet and  _right,_ a flash of white flares through your vision, your head is thrown back against the pillows, chest heaving as your thighs quiver around his head.

Bucky smiles against the skin of your thigh, the taste of you coating his tongue, all crooked and downright  _dangerous._

He’s smiling, all wide, like he’s won something.

And in a sense, he has because in that moment, that moment of pure bliss and utter gratification, you realize that you were doomed from the start -

He’d never planned on letting you come,  _giving you permission to come_.

“Oh, sweetheart, I thought you had more control than that,” he goads, clicking his tongue as he kisses up your body, running his nose against the skin under your breasts, “Comin’ without  _my_ permission.”

_**You could have it your way, how do you want it?** _

_**You gon’ back that thing up, or should I push up on it?** _

_**Temperature rising, okay, let’s go to the next level** _

_**Dance floor jam-packed, hot as a tea kettle** _

Promptly, you find yourself with your stomach pressed against the bedsheets, ass up in the air. You choke out a weak moan, “ _Sarge._ ”

“Maybe I should leave you here,  _begging_ for my cock?” You manage a soft sound of protest, taking a sharp breath as you feel his hands knead your ass, “Maybe I should bend your pretty little ass over my knee and - ”

His flesh hand makes sharp contact with your ass, your cry muffled against the pillows.

“Or maybe since you like coming so much, I’ll make you come over and over again till you’re screaming? Sound good?”

You can’t manage much more than a choked moan as his hand makes contact with your ass, eyes shut tightly.

“Ten,” Bucky decrees, voice filled with lust at having you at his complete mercy, “You’re going to count each one off for me.”

He raises his hand another time, spanking you twice, leaving you breathless as you stutter out the count.

Your hands tangle in the sheets, holding onto them as if they were some sort of anchor, and in a sense they were, smelling distinctly of smoke and  _Bucky._

Bucky leans forward, his nose gliding along the curve of your back, taking a deep inhale of your scent, committing it to memory as he kneads your ass, massaging the pain of his slap away.

The fourth slap doesn’t come immediately, he leaves you on edge knowing that you were prepared for it. His hand glides downwards,  _teasing_.

You’d never taken yourself to be this pliant in someone’s hands, and some part of you still wants to believe that you’re  _not._

You don’t want to admit that you’re more turned on than you’ve ever been in your life but your body betrays the fact, arousal sticky between your legs, dripping steadily out of your core.

His hand comes down on your ass suddenly, alternating cheeks, causing you to release a loud cry. The sting of the slap refuses to ebb away for a moment, his hand once again attempting to soothe the sting.

You don’t expect the cold of his metal fingers, your hips jerking harshly at the sudden temperature drop. He chuckles, stroking your folds slowly as he continues to tease, the tips of his fingers seeking out your clit.

A low, barely audible moan slips past your lips, your position leaving you no choice but to succumb to his actions.

_FiveSixSeven_

They come in quick succession, leaving you gasping for breath, barely able to recite the numbers. He leans down, lips brushing down along your back, barely brushing the surface of your skin as he nips lightly at it, making you whimper at the pin-prick of pain.

Bucky can’t help the twitch of his cock at your sound, taking pride in the fact that it’s only by his doing that you’re so  _fucking wrecked._

“You’re doing so good for me, darlin’,” You have the dignity to blush, some innocent and untainted part of you making blood rush to your cheeks.

He licks his lips, almost subconsciously, at the delicious sight.

_EightNineTen_

You’re gasping for air, tears pricking the corner of your eyes. You’re unable to talk, much less  _think_ , attempting to focus on the languid glide of his lips along your back, his words of praise don’t go unregistered in your head.

He works your body with care, cradling you in his arms as you find yourself seated in his lap once again.

“You gonna be good for me now?” His voice is soft,  _promise_ clear in it, “Cause I’m not done with you yet.”

His lips press to the crown of your head, lingering against your skin, “How’re you feeling?”

“G-good,” You barely manage to get the single syllable out.

“Okay, sweetheart, since you like coming so much, I’m gonna make you come for me.” His lips press to your collarbone, teeth grazing lightly against your skin, “Tell me what you want.”

You gulp, throat dry, “I want you to fuck me.”

_**I break it down for you now, baby it’s simple** _

_**If you be a nympho, I’ll be a nympho** _

_**In the hotel, or in the back of the rental** _

_**On the beach or in the park, it’s whatever you into** _

It’s all the encouragement he needs, his cock painfully hard as he grips the base of it, sliding the sensitive head between your lips.

He kisses you, maddeningly slow as your hips buck into his, moans muffled against his lips. Soft sounds leave your lips,  _possessive_ growls claiming you for his own as you roll your hips wantonly towards his cock.

Bucky’s lips travel downward, dragging his lips across your jugular as his lips latch onto your pulse point, tongue flicking gently at the skin. He knows for a fact that you’ll struggle to hide the marks later.

“You’re mine, sweetheart. All mine.”

“Yes, Sarge.” You can barely manage the words, completely giving yourself to him as he slides in, making you cry out in intense pleasure at the intrusion. Your walls are snug around the thickness of his cock and yes -

It hurts a little because he’s  _big_ but you feel  _full._

There’s something hopelessly erotic about the way that his eyes never leave yours as he begins to move, finding a slow, nearly painful rhythm that’s  _completely fucking unfair_ because you’ve waited so goddamn  _long -_

“ _Bucky.”_

A smile stretches over his lips, crooked and deliberate as he leans up, capturing your lips in a deep kiss _,_ your hips beginning to move with his almost of their own volition. His teeth catch your bottom lip, tugging.

_**Got the magic stick, I’m the love doctor** _

_**I ain’t finished teaching you 'bout how sprung I got ya** _

_**Wanna show me how you work it baby? No problem, get on top** _

_**Then get your bounce around, like a little rider** _

Your hips jerk harshly into his, the angle changing, but now -

He’s hitting something  _soft and electric_ within you that makes your nails dig into his shoulders and there’s a hot pressure in the pit of your stomach, thighs trembling. He  _knows,_ he knows because -

He’s aiming to hit that spot every time and your body’s taut with tension and your eyes haven’t left his and it’s _catastrophic_.

Your body quivers with the force of your orgasm, walls squeezing his cock.

Bucky makes a desperate sound, almost like he’s burning and freezing at the same time, eyes shutting tightly as your orgasm triggers his own release.

Nothing fills the air but the sound of both your heavy breathing and when you’re  _finally_ able to think, you’re shaky, still sitting in Bucky’s embrace. The silence is strange, stretching stretching  _stretching_ as if neither of you know what to say.

He doesn’t react when you shift slightly, looking lost in a pleasant stupor as his soft cock slips out of, causing you to gasp softly.

You lean against his chest, kissing along the sutures along his left arm. He takes a shuddering breath, watching you but still not saying a thing -

You don’t move. Neither does he.


	11. Icefire [Bucky Barnes]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "summer's for loving and leaving." (bucky barnes x reader)

A plume of smoke rises above your heads, the grey column rising until it dissipated into  _nothing_. Bucky takes another long drag of his cigarette, letting the smoke deep into his lungs before exhaling.

Lost in a dazed reverie of utter peace, he doesn’t quite expect to hear the groggy sound of your voice, his eyes half-lidded as he stares at the blank eggshell wall of the motel room that the two of you had stumbled into at two in the fucking morning because you just were beggin’ for some sort of escape from  _everything_  -

“You know that ain’t good for you, Buck.”

His only response is a huff. Peeking out from under the warmth of the blankets, you take your time to memorize him, committing to memory everything from the way that he sits, muscles tense against the headboard to shadows that his eyelashes cast on his cheekbones to the slight frown playing at his lips like he’s trying to play off that he really doesn’t  _want_ to smoke, it’s just a sort of stress relief for him ‘cause it’s constant and it’s repetitive and it  _keeps him busy._

See, Bucky isn’t quite as good at hiding as he thinks he is - years and years of being forced to subdue himself leave him no more room to hold another thing, another lie, another  _secret_ in his heart.

“Bucky.”

He laughs - and maybe it’s the hoarseness of his voice or just the lack of emotion in what’s  _supposed_ to be a happy sound but it sends a shiver through you, all cold and colder even though you’re under two layers of blankets to protect you from what the nice lady at the front desk had warned was apparently an unfixable, utterly broken air conditioner that existed for the sole purpose of burning money with utility costs - you don’t know if you quite like the feeling but it’s definitely something  _different_.

And then, he looks at you but it really feels like he’s looking through you ‘cause there are dark circles under his eyes like he hasn’t slept in weeks and maybe he  _hasn’t_ but suddenly you’re not caring anymore that his eyes are grayer than they are blue and they’re completely devoid of  _anything_ \- you sit up.

“You okay?” ‘Course, you’re not exactly sure why those words leave your lips ‘cause it’s the stupidest fucking question you could’ve thought of at the moment ‘cause he’s definitely not okay but it’s the best you can manage - it makes you a little bit angry and you’re not sure why.

Once again, he doesn’t answer immediately and maybe at this point, you should be a used to the silence, thinking that you’re not gonna get an answer and you’re suddenly a little angry but then his lips part and he looks for a moment like he’s just gonna take another drag of his cigarette - he doesn’t.

“Always, sunshine.” Maybe it should bother you a little about the nickname ‘cause you don’t have  _something_ with him that actually says that he can call you that, that he’s allowed to call you by the name of something so much brighter than the simple  _happiness_  that he’s begun to crave like a drug after the first time you’d made him smile - it’s a little weird. You definitely don’t hate it.

You know that despite the simplicity of the answer, there’s a hidden meaning woven between each letter of the words - he wants some silence.

“Buck -”  _It’s not silence._ He doesn’t seem to mind, moving to tap the ashes into the ashtray - well, you’re not quite sure if he minds or maybe you’re just reading him wrong, “You don’t gotta do this alone. You got the whole team lookin’ out for you.”

Bucky gulps like it’s not what he wants to hear. He blinks - once, twice - before answering, “I don’t got you?”

Yeah, he’s considered trying not to dwell too much on your words ‘cause you  _don’t_ include yourself and he’s not sure if that’s on purpose or not but he just wants to know if  _this -_ whatever this was - is really anything at all.

You’re caught utterly off guard by his question and you don’t know how to answer. So, you don’t, the silence that follows pressing down on the two of you like a layer of sweat that just  _can’t_ be shaken off into drops of water, even if they’ll only stick to you as they fall.

You press your fingers to your temples - “You know I wasn’t meant to stay - “  _with you._

It’s Bucky’s turn to be silent because frankly,  _he doesn’t fucking know._ So, he asks the question that’s been bugging him since the very first day that Natasha had introduced the two of you saying  _she’ll be staying at the tower for a bit,_ ‘cause since then, he’s always wanted to know just how long a bit was, just how long it’d be before he would no longer find you crashed out on the couch dressed in some stupidly loose t-shirt that hung over your shoulder, that you’d pilfered from Steve or Sam or  _him -_ he doesn’t care anymore because  _you look better in it anyway_ and he always wanted to know just how long he’d have until he no longer found a blanket that smelled like your shampoo, draped over his shoulders when a nightmare hit him harder than he was prepared for.

He’d wanted to know just how long he’d have to formulate a coherent goodbye that’s not too passive, not too clingy because god knows just how terrible he is with feelings, with those stupid tears that slide down his face as the  _goodbye_ stays buried in the depths of his mouth.

Bucky snuffs out the cigarette, taking a deep inhale of fresh air as a feeling of unbidden, inexplicable calm washes over him, “Can’t you stay?”  _With me?_

And this time,  _he does know_ and yet, he still asks ‘cause there’s this annoying little thing called hope and despite everything he’s lost, a flicker of it still remains in him ‘cause that’s just him - he’s James Buchanan Barnes and  _he hopes_.

Then he turns and takes your hands in his so gently like he’s afraid you’ll break, you’ll  _disappear_ if he touches you too hard and you’re almost tempted to say  _Don’t think you’re gonna break me, Barnes. I can kick your ass_ \- but you don’t because the softest syllable leaves his lips and it’s gentle at first, washing over you like a wave hitting the beach on a sunny day but then suddenly, it’s tugging at you like a riptide and you can’t do  _anything_ to stop it, “ _Please.”_

You kiss him first, leaning up to press your lips oh so  _gently_ to his and maybe, maybe  _this isn’t the end_. You’ll let him believe that for now because he deserves happiness, even if it’s just for a moment and besides, you really can’t say anything else because he’s kissing you back immediately, stealing the very breath from your lungs like it’s what he was born to you and -  _you’re lost._

His lips are soft against yours, insistent against yours and it takes everything you’ve got not to just  _melt_ against him because it’s  _slow and soft_ and just a little better than  _good_ \- you feel like breathing suddenly becomes  _just_ a little harder and you have to consciously remind yourself to inhale and exhale ‘cause it’s so easy to get lost in everything that’s  _him_.

He shifts and suddenly, it’s a race to see who can press impossible closer to the other ‘cause you’re both lost to the instinct to get  _closer, closer, closer_ until you’re seated in his lap and his hands are desperate as they pull you flush to him, metal hand resting on the small of your back -  _you’re breathless._

The kiss is needy,  _imperfect_ with your lips moving messily with each other and  _Bucky_  - it’s like he’s found something that he’s been searching for all this time without even knowing it and  _fuck_ if he’d ever dare let it go.

You’d like to think that maybe you’re still able to think - like maybe this was some sort of  _closeness_ that you’d craved all this time, something that you’ve carefully and very deliberately denied yourself because maybe,  _someone else_ was just a little safer that way and now,  _now_ you’re not trying anymore because Bucky’s  _real_ and utterly  _solid_ under your hands and you know that you could’ve have stopped if you tried.

Maybe, if you were still able to think, you might’ve given a damn.

Then your hands are sliding up under his shirt, taking their time to explore every curve and bump of his abdomen and he rocks up against you, making this sweet little sound that goes straight to your core and his cock suddenly feels a little bit hotter against your stomach and you can’t quite remember wanting -  _needing,_ something so badly before and it’s stupidly exciting when his lips drop to your neck and to your collarbone and back up again like all he’s ever wanted to do was unravel you string by string -  _god._

You pull off his shirt and he doesn’t flinch as the cool air washes over his bare torso and he sucks just a little bit  _harder_ on the junction between your neck and shoulder and you’re whispering something that sounds vaguely like  _god, baby, you’re so pretty_ and you’re not sure if the remark even registers because he hasn’t stopped kissing your neck but his grip tightens slightly on your hips - a low moan leaves your lips as he bites down, leaving a glaring red mark that you were absolutely sure that it’d take you a few minutes too long to cover.

You tilt your head down, your hands coming up to cup his jaw and you gulp because his eyes are so fucking dark and his lips are so red and  _wanting_ \- you don’t kiss him, leaning down to lick along his bottom lip and Bucky  _shudders_ , a strained swear leaving his lips and then suddenly, he’s pulling you towards him again and his lips press harshly to yours, unable to think, unable to breathe.

He leans up a little and you’re losing your balance but you’re  _fine_ with it because you land back against the warmth of the mattress and he’s looking at you like you’re his entire world and more -  _shit._

“Tell me you want me to stop.” His voice is hoarse as he breaks the kiss, leaning up just slightly so that his lips still brushed yours when he spoke - “Tell me this isn’t what you want.”

And of course, you don’t. It’s not like you haven’t lied to Bucky before, you know you have -  _he knows you have_ but this,  _this_ is something undeniable and with the moment stretched so thin, there’s nothing left to happen but for it to shatter and leave the two of you scrambling to escape from the shards but right now, none of that matters because it’s just you and Bucky and Bucky and you.

His fingers rest on the skin where your shirt is too short to meet the waistband of your jeans and even that gentle contact has you reeling from the electric sparks that skitter across your skin, “Tell me - “

“No.” You breathe out, your voice barely controlled and he  _groans_  like some part of him’s crumbling and breaking and like  _he’d hoped you’d say no_ because god knows how hard it is to control himself around you. He’s fumbling with your zipper like he can’t wait for another second to be  _closer_ and you can’t help but smile - you’re not sure what prompts it but maybe it’s just the fact that his hands are shaking just a tiny bit and he’s just a little  _too eager_.

You let him pull your jeans off, taking the initiative to pull your shirt overhead and off and - he’s staring, his breathing slow and steady like he’s burning this image of you bare and exposed to him to his memory.

Then, he’s kissing you again, all long, hard and  _deep,_ his tongue intruding into your mouth to tangle with yours in a passionate embrace and you find yourself moaning into the kiss, a little helpless as your hands splay on his broad chest, trying to feel every inch of him at the same time.

Bucky’s hands work your bra free, dropping it carelessly the the ground with his lips still slanted over yours like you’re the only oxygen he needs - he can feel your heartbeat against his chest, jackhammering like a cornered rabbit and a little smirk tugs at the corner of his lips because  _yeah_ , it’s his fault it’s like that and he’d be damning himself if he didn’t take the credit for it.

Your skin is soft,  _warm_ against the coolness of his metal arm and he’s the one  _falling_ when his metal thumb brushes over your nipple and you rock up against him all innocent and sweet like you can’t help but ask for more - he wants to hate how much the half gasped moan that leaves your lips affects him.

“Fuck,”

And as far as he thinks this has gone already, it’s still not quite good enough - he breaks the kiss, retracing the path down your neck and to your breasts with a sort of reverence that he’s so stupidly proud of ‘cause it’s got you gasping, moaning his name all needy and breathless as you lean into his mouth.

“Pants off, c’mon.” And though the words that leave your mouth are meant to be something  _teasing,_ defiant even just to damage his ego but in reality, they’re nothing more than a little wanting, a little breathy. It’s a plea that leaves your lips so unbidden.

He smiles and before he can find a way to talk himself out of this because  _he’s_ really trying to - he knows that this, whatever  _this_ is can’t last but he can’t find a solid argument so he caves. His pants join the growing pile of clothes on the floor, followed immediately by your panties - you can’t help the little sound of utter  _happiness_ when you find out that he’s not wearing any boxers because it’s one less layer that separates you and one more inch closer that he can be.

His pulse is pounding, electric with pre-storm tension as his hand slips down your stomach, moving between your thighs to find you gorgeously  _wet_ and wanting. He runs his fingers through your arousal, and you’re choking out something halfway between a whisper of his name and a sigh and he  _falters_ because he finally understands why the feeling of your bare skin against his is an undeniable addiction and your lips are a drug -  _goddamit._

You rock your hips up against his hand, aching for  _more_ friction and he’s prepared to give it to you - he can’t think of a single thing he wants more in that moment, in any moment than you but if this is the one moment that he’ll get to have you all for his own - he’ll take it.

“Buck - “ He presses a finger into you, reveling in the way that your walls clench around the intrusion and with what little coherent thought remains in his mind, he realizes how fucking hard he is.

His fingers begin to move slowly and when he curls it up, just a little, your moan is helpless and needy and his answering groan reverberates through the room. He can’t get enough, the last dregs of his self-control that he manages to hold onto in the situation fading quickly as he drinks in each and every sound you’re making.

“Stop teasing, you pri -  _oh_ ,“ He presses his fingers into you quicker, cutting off your words with a sharp gasp and you’re scrambling for something to hold onto because the next thing you know, he’s leaning down to capture your nipple into his warm, wet mouth and the contact is a bit much, a bit too much because you’re stumbling quicker towards an orgasm than you would’ve initially thought possible.

“Sorry, sunshine. What was that?”

You want to kill him but really, at this point, you’re too far gone, eyes shut tightly as he plays your body like an instrument he’s lost practice on, how to play every melody perfectly coming back to him slowly.

Bucky’s teeth graze your nipple, biting down so fucking gently on the sensitive nub and that’s all it takes for you to stumble over the edge, a flash of white overtaking your vision.

His eyes are glued to the curve of your lips, not daring look away as he watches the pleasured expression on your face as you stumble over the precipice of something  _catastrophic._

He pulls his mouth off of you, slowly freeing his fingers from you and before he can react, you’re reaching up and you’re tangling your hands in his hair, pulling him down into a kiss that consists of everything that makes his blood run a little hotter in his veins.

“Fuck me,”

And it’s not much but it’s all the encouragement he needs before he’s grinding his hips into yours, covering the head of his cock in everything you have to offer to him - it’s with brutal efficiency that his eyes rake over your body, loving the way you squirm under the heat of it.

“Bucky, c’mon.” Your voice is dazed at the sheer reality of the hardness of his cock between your legs, thick, hot and heavy and there’s not another thing that you’d rather be doing than kissing him again - he pushes into you with one long, languid stroke.

He’s frozen still for a moment, just enjoying the feeling of your walls hugging his cock, his jaw clenched because he just wants  _more_ but he’s waited this long - he’s willing to wait a few more seconds, waiting for your cue.

“Move.”

“Not too nice at ask - “ You grind your hips upwards into his in retaliation, narrowing your eyes at him and then he’s  _moving,_ finding a slow, nearly painful pace that’s got you gasping because you can feel  _every goddamn inch_ of him and dragging your nails down his back.

You clench around him, your breaths coming in little gasps that make you scrunch up your nose and arch your back -  _this is gonna become a problem_ he thinks ‘cause fuck, he’s not gonna last very long, not like _this_.

There’s a heat spreading like a wildfire over your skin, low embers igniting in the pit of your stomach and  _fuck fuck fuck._ The warmth radiating off his body is suffocating as his eyes lock on yours and there’s something stupidly, so fucking  _beautifully_ erotic about the way that his eyes stay locked on yours as he continues to thrust into you

Bucky rests his forehead against yours, breathing your air and groaning your name, his muscles taut with tension waiting to be released in a flash of something that’ll overtake you both in an endless wave of  _freedom._

He’s saying something, his voice low and barely controlled, rushed but you hear him perfectly, your breath stuttering -

“Stay with me, baby. Jus’ -  _fuck -_ for a little.”

You answer with a pleasured mewl, taking a moment to formulate your response because god knows that you wouldn’t be able to reply as quickly as you normally would’ve, not while he’s moving like  _that._

“ _Bucky,_ ” You moan, “You…. know I can’t.  _Shit -_ ”

And this time, he doesn’t try to argue because, for all he knows, this is the kind of sadness he  _wants_ to be addicted to.

Your body trembles with the force of your orgasm, thighs locking around his waist and Bucky groans, desperate and tight, gripping your hips like you might vanish into thin air if he lets go.

It doesn’t take much more for him to reach his peak, his hips stuttering as he cums deep into you, thick, warm strands of his cum filling you, his breaths shaky. He leans up slightly and opens his mouth like he’s going to whisper something. You already know what it is and you know that he’s trying everything to get you to change your mind.

_Stay._

You kiss him like you’re trying to remember every part of him.

_You can’t._


	12. Loki Laufeyson sex headcanons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> how sex with loki would be like.

- **When:** It’s a weekly occurrence. Usually, he’s too busy smiling as Frigga fusses over him. 

-  **Location:** It  _never_ happens behind closed quarters. One time, he had you sprawled across the throne promised to him…His maids have caught you in the library before (of course, they saw nothing  ~~except his perfectly sculpted ass~~ ) 

-  **Why:** 99% of the time, it’s because he’s either angry or extremely frustrated with the Asgardian lifestyle. (You’ll be casually reading a book and he’ll walk in, his posture stiff and his mouth set in a frown. Next thing you know, you’re naked, the book is thrown on the floor and he’s crawling over you with darkened eyes)

-  **Noise level:** Magic is useful, isn’t it?

-  **Position:** Doggy-style. He’ll hold your hair back, tugging at the strand as if he has reins in his hand as he thrusts into you, his other hand gripping your hip to keep you still on the bed. Loki loves to watch the way that your face contorts in the mirror you’re facing, the way that your arms shake as you try to hold yourself up to keep a level position…)

-  **Rough? Gentle? :** Usually, it’s rough. There are barely any boundaries, hence your need for a safe word if he does, in fact, get too into it and hurts you. There’s always bruises and you always struggle to walk the day after. As the maids dress you, all you can do is bite your lip harshly at their every teasing remark as they see the numerous marks littering your body. 

Every time that you see him around the palace throughout the day, you receive a deliberate smirk that sets your heart racing and makes blood rush to your face. You end up forcing your gaze away with your heart pounding in your chest as the images from last night flash through your mind. His smirk widens. 

-  **Activities:**

 *  **cLonEs**. He’ll make clones that’ll have you squirming on the bed within mere seconds and Loki will simply watch, stroking himself, his eyes darkening further with every sound that leaves your lips. 

            *  **Masturbation**. Let me get this straight, he  _loves_ watching you as you touch yourself with his bottom lip held hostage between his teeth, biting nearly hard enough to draw blood. His eyes are focused on your face, watching your mouth stay wide open in an attempt to catch your breath, your eyes dazed and barely open….and when the faintest moan of his name leaves your lips….

            *  **BDSM**. Loki is a kinky little fuck. He wants power and when you’re tied down to the bed, mewls of his name filling the air as his fingertips just  _brush_ over the expanse of your ribs, he has the exact power he wants. 

-  **Aftercare:** He’ll press slow kisses over the bruises he left, making his way off the bed slowly to get some towels to clean up. 

After, he’ll get back in bed, pulling your exhausted frame closer and whispering that you’re his queen no matter what. You both fall asleep together, tangled in the sheets together. 


	13. Pietro Maximoff sex headcanons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How sex with Pietro Maximoff would be like.

-  **When:** All. The. Time. Speed really does come in handy when he sees that blue dress he really likes on you but would like better on the floor. 

-  **Location:** The kitchen counter. That’s all I’m gonna say. 

-  **Why:** The majority of the time, it’s due to mission stress. He always feels as if he’s not doing enough for the time since his hatred for Tony dissipated into something resembling the smallest bit of admiration. Despite your constant reassurances that he’s contributed just as much as anyone else, Pietro never fully believes it. He always wants to do more. 

**Noise level:** Tony made sure that both your rooms had soundproofed walls. ( ~~not that it helped~~ )

**\- Position:** Cowgirl. Pietro loves having you on top, watching the way that you control the pace that successfully pleasures both of you. He revels in the way that your mouth is open slightly, your chest heaving in a failing attempt to breathe steadily as your hips rock slowly into his, his hands gripping your hips. He adores the flush of your cheeks and the way that you bite your lip harshly to stifle the loud cry of his name as you reach your high, him following soon after. 

-  **Rough? Gentle? :** Pietro loves taking it slow despite the fact that speed is something that he craves. He loves the soft sighs that leave your mouth as his hands explore every inch of your body, your cheeks flushed as he holds your gaze, refusing to let you look away as his lips follow the path that his hands had taken. 

He’s never one to hurt you but one thing is fact: He’s possessive and you’re the greatest person to ever exist. So when he sees a drunk Tony trying to flirt with you, soundproof walls are for the best of everyone within a twenty-foot radius. 

-  **Activities:**

***So. Many. Quickies.:** The fleeting, sloppy touches as he takes you against a wall in the nearest coat closet serve only to keep you on edge for the rest of the day, watching and waiting for his next move. 

                * **Oral:** This boy’s tongue is a godsend, which is about the furthest from the truth that you could get because the moment it touches any part of your skin, the most sinful words will leave you lips. Nothing gets him harder than watching your back arch off the bed or kitchen counter, loud whimpers of his name thrown out in the air only to irk him on even more as his tongue starts vibrating so  _lightly_ on your clit. Pietro loves the taste of you on his tongue, your arousal coating his lips as he thrusts into you slowly, well lubricated by your previous orgasm( ~~s~~ ).

              *Hair-pulling: Why do you think that he always has the ‘just fucked’ look?

              *Okay, but accents and foreign languages: He’ll turn into a mess, unfiltered Sokovian swears leaving his lips as he meets your lips in an intense kiss, tumbling over the edge and moaning softly as your nails drag down his back.

-  **Aftercare:** Both of you lie in each others’ arms, him whispering how much he loves you in Sokovian and you asking him what it means every time (even though you already know what the words mean by now) just to hear him repeat it. 


	14. Clint Barton sex headcanons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How sex with Clint Barton would be like.

**\- When:** Most times, it’ll happen after missions. He’ll constantly be stressed about the fact that he’s a simple man surrounded by men and women who can do all kinds of amazing things. But only with your gentle kisses and soft touches of reassurance will those thoughts be forgotten. 

He’s also a sucker for tender morning sex. Clint would wake up to find you curled close to his side, a easy smile lighting his features. Slowly, his fingers would move down your body, slipping beneath the oversized shirt of his that you like to wear, the sensation of his fingers gliding over your soft skin seeping only partially into your mind. He’ll start moving his fingers slowly against you, knowing you had been awake since the idea had first crept into his mind due to the soft, jumbled words leaving your lips untainted by drowsiness. 

-  **Location:** Your bedroom. As much as he refuses to admit, he actually  _likes_ taking the walk of shame because every time he’s teased about it, he replies with ‘I don’t have anything to be ashamed of.” 

-  **Why:** So many reasons. I can’t write any of them here.

**\- Noise level:** Fairly silent. The loudest sound that’s ever been heard when both of you go at it is a scream because you fell off the bed. He didn’t stop apologizing for days until you kissed him fiercely, demanding that he shut up and let you be on top. 

**\- Position:** Missionary. The sole reason for this is that he loves to bite down on your shoulder, muffling his moans as he reaches his release. 

-  **Rough? Gentle? :** Clint is definitely one to make love to you because with both your professions constantly putting your life in danger, neither of you know when you’ll lose the other. It’s the tender kisses full of love and downward movement of hands that strikes something in both of you. 

-  **Activities:**

*** Skype calls:** Clint is constantly on missions, so often he’ll Skye you innocently. You on the other hand, have been missing his touch thus your current state of undress. Let’s simply say, innocence has successfully been destroyed. 

            * Threesomes: Of course, he was a little nervous when he first asked you if you were okay with someone else joining you in your sexual endeavors, but it’s easy to say that you didn’t regret a single thing about saying okay when Natasha walked into the bedroom. 

            * Kissing: This may not sound very sexual but no matter what’s happening in the moment, Clint’s lips will always be in contact with your body whether they be brushing against your lips, collarbone, neck, belly or much lower. 

-  **Aftercare:** Clint loves taking baths with you after sex. He can’t get enough of the feel of your skin under his hands and his cravings are nulled for the time being as his fingers work your lavender scented over your shoulders. And when you kiss him softly, whispering that he’s gonna be smelling like you for a while, he’ll only smile, pressing closer to you. 


	15. Tony Stark sex headcanons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How sex with Tony Stark would be like.

- **When:** It’s a nightly occurrence. He has nothing on his mind except pure admiration for you, eyes bright as you straddle his hips, a gentle smirk playing on your lips as you lean down, brushing your lips lightly over his, raising your hips only to drop down seconds later, taking in his length, a long moan spilled from your lips, echoing in symphony with a soft swear from him. 

-  **Location:** It will happen all over the Tower. After all, it is his property. But his definite favorite spot is the kitchen counter. There’s just something about the danger of one of his teammates walking in and catching him in the act of pleasuring his girl that causes his cock to twitch in his pants. 

**Why:** You’re just so beautiful and he just can’t seem to get his head around the fact that you’re his. 

**\- Noise level:** Tony has taken it upon himself to provide the team with noise-cancelling headphones. As to whether they actually use them…that’s another story for another time. 

-  **Position:** Cowgirl. There’s no question that Tony loves seeing you in control, hips grinding into his, his erect cock brushing over your folds but only applying a steady pressure, doing nothing but teasing both of you. When you finally sink down onto him, your wet heat engulfing his girth, he can’t help but bite down harshly on his bottom lip, taking in the pleasured expression on your face.

-  **Rough? Gentle?:** It’s fact that Tony loves you with every atom he’s made out of. For some reason, he can’t believe that you’re all his. He’ll kiss you desperately as if you’re the air he’s in need of. His hands will move all over your body, memorizing the feel of your skin, brushing over each curve, taking in your beauty, his eyes bright. 

He holds parties as a weekly event and as much as you wouldn’t admit it to him, you hate them. But of course, you don’t say anything, instead settling for plastering on a quick smile and some makeup. Halfway through you’ll excuse yourself, going to the bar for a drink, trying to get the glances of other women staring at your man out of your head. A slow conversation would begin with the bartender, who happens to be one of Tony’s friends. Tony, however, would’ve been watching from a distance, seething with rage at your ease with the other man. And he’s wrong when he thinks that he’ll be in control for the night. 

 -  **Activities:**  

               * Tony is a kinky fucker, okay? The last time that you wanted something small for your birthday, you found a silky, lavender pair of panties on your bed. Of course, you had worn them. And of course, he had known. 

               * Mutual Masturbation 

               * Dirty talk : Tony loves seeing you all flustered in the middle of the day when he casually approaches your desk, bending down to whisper how good you’d look bent over it. 

               * Many would say that Tony’s in control in the bedroom too, but that’s false. He loves being tied down and blindfolded by you, being at your mercy. Let’s just say that more than one time, you’ve left him hanging, earning loud swears in response as he tries to tug out of the binds. 

-  **Aftercare:** Tony is a sucker for after-sex cuddles. He’ll pull you close, simply holding you close to your frame, pressing soft kisses to the crown of your head just as your lips press a gentle kiss to his arc reactor, finger tracing the outline of the mechanism. 


	16. Stark's Private Car-wash Services [Tony Stark]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tony gets turned on by his girlfriend washing one of his cars. (tony stark x reader)

The smooth, flawless metal slid easily under your soapy fingers, brushing over the light layer of grime that covered the gray Bugatti Chiron.

Bending down with the sponge clutched in your hands, tightly to keep it from slipping, you dipped it into the bucket of cold water. You let it soak up the liquid, the sponge swelling in your hand as you pressed it to the car’s metal frame again; your fingers working over the cool hardness of the metal, soap suds clinging to your hands that were so calloused from working in the lab with Tony.

Your chest was pressed against the hood of the car as you leaned forward, reaching for a stray cloth that you had seemed to have forgotten.

“You have no idea how good you look bent over the Bugatti with your pretty ass in the air like that, do you?” Tony’s voice rang out from a little ways off, it suddenly becoming clear that he’d been watching you clean the French vehicle.

“I think I do, actually. Thanks for helping inflate my ego.” You shot back, standing back up and leaning slightly back against the grilles. Tony walked towards you, a gentle but quite deliberate smirk playing on his lips.

“There really isn’t much space to have it inflate much more.”

“You do realize that you, of all people, have no right to say that.”

“I’m Tony Stark. Of course, I have the right.”

“And I’m your girlfriend. Also, someone who’s taking away that right.” You grinned, pointer finger tracing along his pecs now that he was close enough for you to touch. Your eyes flickered up to his, watching his pupils dilate at your simple action.

“What gives you the right to take away that right?” He smirked, stepping closer to you, your chest now brushing his with every breath.

You leaned forward to whisper in his ear, “I’ve got you wrapped around my finger, Stark, You’re all mine.” You growled, nipping at his earlobe. By then, his hands had found their way to your hips, pulling you impossibly closer to him, his erection pressed flush against your inner thigh.

“Someone’s excited.” You teased, one of your hands sliding up the expanse of his chest.

“At the prospect of you moaning my name, I can’t help it.”

“Who knows, Tony? It might be the other way around.” You retorted, other hand brushing over his erection, restrained by his jeans. He took a sharp breath in at the simple contact, needing no more encouragement to lean forward and kiss you, pressing his lips feverishly to yours. The kiss tore a short gasp from the back of your throat, your lips moving languidly over his. Your left hand tangled in his hair, pulling his lips closer to your as you right hand worked deftly to unbuckle his pants.

Both his hands slid down your body, finding their way to your ass and lifting you up onto the hood of the car. You broke the kiss with an eager smirk, having worked his pants open, the two ends of his belt clutched in your hands like reins as you tugged him forward, meeting his lips in a bruising kiss, your tongue already working its way into his mouth.

A soft moan escaped his lips at the contact of your tongue tangling passionately with his, his hands tugging your shirt off, your nipples hardening instantly at the chilled air of the garage. Your back arched into his hands as they found their way higher, cupping your breasts through your bra, thumbs rubbing concentric circles around your nipples. A low groan left your lips, muffled against his mouth.

Tony’s body was flush against yours, your chest brushing his with every breath. You broke the kiss with a soft huff, hand finding its way into Tony’s pants, past the restrictive barrier of his boxers to wrap your fingers around his cock, now fully erect and ready for you, tip already leaking pre-cum.

Hearing his sharp inhale was more than enough to encourage your movements as your mouth lowered, pressing open-mouthed kisses to along his jawline.

“Fuck, baby.” He ground out, barely able to formulate the words.

“We’ll get there soon enough,” You muttered against his skin, soft bites leaving glaring red marks that he’d later struggle to hide.

A low groan spilled past his lips as you slid off the hood of his car, planting gentle kisses over the skin of his neck, teeth grazing over his pulse point. Your fingers worked to unbutton his shirt, slipping past the smooth material to brush over his arc reactor, tracing the shape of the mechanism with your pointer finger tracing along the outer edge of the metal frame.

Your lips lowered to the whirring machine, pressing a soft, reassuring kiss against it, the cold metal causing a slight shiver to run through your body. You cast a doe-eyed glance up at Tony, one you knew would cause his breath to hitch, your theory only cemented by the darkening of his chocolate brown eyes.

Gradually, your mouth arrived at the edge of his boxers, knees bent in front of his frame, your teasing already having gotten him breathless above you. Deciding to let him off the hook, just for this one time, you tugged down his boxers, licking your lips in a vulgar show of what you had planned. You could hear Tony’s breath hitch as his hand came to rest on the hood of the car. Smirking, you began to work him in your hand, flicking your wrist back and forth, thumb circling his slit to gather the arousal that had leaked from him.

Winking, you licked off your thumb, earning a drawn out moan from him.

“Baby, please.” His voice was strained, thighs trembling slightly as he sensed release so close by, your breath fanning over his erection, lips so goddamn close.

Your tongue snuck out of your mouth, gently touching upon his cock, kitten licking the tip, taking your time to taste him. You moaned deeply from the back of your throat, mainly to give him a show, nails digging into his thigh as his hips bucked towards your face.

Your tongue licked a broad stripe up the underside of his cock, applying a gentle pressure to the vein that was particularly prominent there.

The sharp inhale that he took was enough to signal just how much he was enjoying this as you took him deeper into your mouth, relaxing your throat muscles so that you didn’t gag on his girth.

You began to work up a slow pace, bobbing your head with a mouthful of him as one of his hands tangled in your hair, guiding your movements. His groans filled the garage, echoing in symphony with the vulgar, suggestive sound of your wet mouth taking him in and out and in and out.

His orgasm was quick to descend upon him, cock twitching in your mouth as strings of his cum came in contact with your tongue, the salty tang making you groan around him as you swallowed down what he had to offer.

“Jesus fuck, baby. You take my cock so good, you know that?” He gasped out, still breathless as you stood up, a smirk tugging upwards at your lips.

You took in his flustered frame, hand still pressed tightly against hood of the Bugatti, hair wild and lips still parted.

“Trust me, I know.”


	17. Scott Lang sex headcanons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How sex with Scott Lang would be like.

**\- When:** The majority of the time, it happens after you two come home from work. He’ll find you eating waffles for dinner with Luis and can’t help his own smile at how adorable you look wearing one of his shirts and pajama shorts. He can’t control himself as he wraps his arms around you, kissing the top of your head. 

**\- Location:** Bedroom. That’s the only location that he can take his sweet time with you, fingers skimming over the expanse of your ribs, his eyes never breaking away from yours for even a moment as your shirt comes off. 

-  **Why:** It’s simple, he can’t get enough of you. Scott just feels so goddamn lucky to have you. 

-  **Noise level:** There are times it can be loud. Those are the times when the apartment is left just to you two. His hands will be everywhere but nowhere all at once because he’s trying to feel every inch of you all at once. 

Other times it’s just the sound of your soft moans, muffled by his lips against yours as he thrusts repeatedly into you, your hips moving with him but struggling to keep pace. 

-  **Position:** Missionary or Cowgirl. He’s all for eye contact during sex. 

-  **Rough? Gentle? :** Scott is amazing in bed, he loves taking the time to appreciate for not only dealing with his self-proclaimed stupid puns but for also just being there for him.

He’s also very protective of you because you’re  _his girl._ So when some other guy is getting too friendly with you, he’s right there, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing a soft kiss to your neck to show the other guy who you really are.  Of course, that protectiveness doesn’t fade for the rest of the night. 

-  **Activities:**

*** _body worship_**

                * Oral: Scott is so good with his mouth, it’s unreal. His tongue is deft when it comes to making your thighs quake with pleasure. His lips form a tight suction around you, causing you to bite your lip harshly to stifle the scream of his name that’s ready to emerge from your lips. All the while, his eyes never stray from yours. 

He also loves the feel of your hair tangled around his fingers as he guides your head, your lips wrapped around his length and your eyes wide and innocent. Until you wink at him from between his legs. 

                * You tried dirty talk  **once.** It failed because neither of you could stop laughing. 

                * No matter what, Scott’s lips will always be on your body. Neck. Forehead. Lips. Shoulders. It doesn’t matter. 

-  **Aftercare:** Scoot loves to cuddle. Hell, he even swore that he could die a happy man after simply holding you in his arms for hours. He’ll press soft kisses to the crown of your head, whispering  _I love you_ over and over again. He’ll also tell you stupidly funny jokes that’ll make you burst out into laughter no matter how sleepy you are. 


	18. Natasha Romanoff sex headcanons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How sex with Natasha Romanoff would be like.

**\- When:** It’s no secret that Natasha has been through a lot in the duration of her life, murdering to satisfy the aspirations of her superiors. Often, she’ll wake up in the dead of night, breathing heavily, wild eyes scanning the bedroom to find a threat that isn’t there. 

It’s these nights that she’ll find herself walking to your room, only to find you missing. Your absence serves only to increase her tensions furthermore…that is until she hears the steady clicking of a keyboard not so far off. She’ll find you curled up on the couch, a bottle of one of Stark’s tempered whiskeys in your hand. 

Without a word, she’ll slide in close to you, prompting you to wrap your arm around her. The soft conversations and shared sips of alcohol turn to gentle touches and eventually, to loving kisses…

-  **Location:** Natasha loves taking her time with you. Needless to say, it usually happens in the bedroom. 

-  **Why:** It’s simple. You’re her anchor. 

**\- Noise level:** Medium….And then there are those days that she feels like making you scream. 

**\- Position:** It really depends on whether she’s using a strap-on. If that is the case, she’ll take you missionary style, loving the helpless gasps that leave your lips with every thrust into you, her lips leaving glaring red marks on your neck and shoulders. 

-  **Rough? Gentle?:** You’re the one who gets more jealous in this relationship. Considering her exquisite beauty, you can’t really be blamed. She’s definitely promiscuous. And she’s also yours. 

Nat also loves taking her time with you, her hands running down your sides, lips pressed to yours. She’ll try to memorize every detail of your body, taking in all the imperfections that you often dwelled on, reassuring you with her gentle words of promise that you’re the only one for her. 

-  **Activities:**

*** 69:** Nat’s big on giving pleasure. So, are you. It’s a solution that works. 

           * Mutual Masturbation: There’s nothing quite like the soft mewls that leave you lips and the way that your mouth is open, gasping for breath that gets her off. 

           * **Sex Toys**

*** Oral:** You really can’t get enough of the pleas that leave her lips when you have her tied to the bed, taking advantage of one of the few times that she’s let you take control. You’ll tease and tease and tease, avoiding her throbbing pussy completely, a smirk on your lips as you leave hickeys on her thighs, relentlessly teasing. 

-  **Aftercare:** With her lips brushing over every mark that she’s left on you and your fingers brushing over the ones that you’ve left on her, you’ll both fall asleep in the other’s arms, whispering proclamations of love that are barely comprehensible in your dazed states. 


	19. His Touch [Thor Odinson]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there’s nothing but love evident in every movement of his. after all, you are his queen. (thor odinson x reader)

His kiss is nothing like you would’ve expected it to be, soft lips gliding languidly over your own, hand cupping your jaw as if you were the most fragile thing in the entire realm. 

There’s no emotion evident in his movements besides  _love_ , his arm circling your waist to tug you ever closer, your chest brushing his own with every inhale.

With eyes closed, hands begin to explore, resting on his bicep for a few seconds, then shifting lower. He’s the first to break the kiss, “Is this what my queen desires?”

The answer that he receives is almost breathless, full of unbidden lust that’s consuming you entirely, “ _Yes._ ”

It’s all the confirmation he needs before he’s leaning down again, lips pressing to yours in a heated frenzy, hands lingering everywhere and nowhere at once, fingers working the strings of your gown free.

A  _fascination_. It’s the only way his view of you can be described, eyes taking every curve, every imperfection of your body that he considered a unique perfection. His hands slide slowly down your body, taking their time meandering lower, memorizing each and every inch of your skin.

Your own hands slide over his body, marveling in the feel of the hardened muscle, fingers following every curve of his abdominals.  

You’re not sure how you find yourself on the bed, one of your legs hooked over his hip, lips not daring part from his own. The kiss deepens evermore, his tongue finding its way into your mouth with utter care, tangling passionately with yours.

Thor’s hands continue to wander, his body hovering over yours, eyes glimmering with nothing but unadulterated admiration as he breaks the kiss, lips hovering mere centimeters above yours as his right hand rests on your breast, thumb working gentle, concentric circles around your nipple as the path of his lips shifts downwards. Soft lips press even softer kisses to the side of your neck, earning sighs muffled by the pressure of your teeth biting down on your lip.

His mouth moves lower, never straying more than a hair’s breadth from your skin as it closes over your neglected breast, tongue swirling around the pert bud, the warm of his mouth a stark contrast to the cool air of the room, sending a spark through you, your hands tangling in his blond locks.

“ _My king.”_ The plea that leaves your lips, barely audible causes his cock to twitch against your thigh, a strained chuckle leaving his lips at having to hold back from simply  _taking you._

His movements are slow, gentle as his lips wander lower, mouth leaving your breast, gliding over your stomach, right hand still massaging the velvety smoothness of your breasts. His movements are subdued, it’s clear that he’s holding back. His tender movements do nothing to quell your craving for  _more._

Thor’s body moves, now lying in between your legs. His hot breath fans over your bare core, sending, causing you to shiver, eyes not daring leave him, watching his every movement closely. He presses a kiss to your pussy, moving back slightly to let the cold air wash over the surface, making your breath catch in your throat, heart thudding in your chest.

He’s smirking, lips curled upwards crookedly with a mischievous glint in those fucking  _beautiful_ blue irises of his. You’re on edge, eyes not daring to move from him, trying to anticipate his next move. He leans forward again, tongue gliding languidly over your folds, taking his time to taste you thoroughly.

A ragged gasp leaves your lips at the teasing contact, hips bucking towards his mouth at the sensation. His forearm is quick to press your hips down, trapping them against the mattress, his mouth continuing its leisure pace on you, tongue pressing against you, his beard teasing the skin of your thighs.

The guttural moans leaving your mouth only serve to fuel his hunger for your, lips, teeth, tongue working over you, pressing slightly past your labia. Straying completely from where your needed his tongue most, his lips working over  _everything else_ , leaving you gasping for air on the bed, nothing but pleas of his name leaving your lips in an  _endless_ prayer.

He guided your legs over his shoulders, pulling you flush against his mouth. A sharp cry leaves your mouth, hands failing to stop tugging at his hair, trying to warn him of your approaching orgasm with broken phrases that could barely be considered a full sentence.

Seconds later, he’s  _devouring_ you, his tongue pushing slightly past your barriers before going back to circle your labia and causing you to cry out his name louder than before. His lips wrapped around your clit, sucking the bundle of nerves into his mouth, your hips fighting against his, thighs trying to close around his head. 

You’re close, a feeling of unexplainable warmth  _spreading spreading spreading_ through every nerve in your body, overwhelming pleasure washing over you. It hits you with the pressure of a tidal wave hitting the welcoming sand of a beach, waves upon waves of pleasure leaving you struggling for air.

He doesn’t stop, tongue catching all that you had to offer, a groan leaving his lips at the taste of you. It takes a while for you to calm down, chest heaving with every inhale and exhale, your entire body hot from his ministrations on it with his mouth.

Thor kisses his way up your body, the satisfied smile not fading from his sinful lips as if he’s the one who’s just received gratification and not you. You’re not sure how to respond to his movements, his darkened, lust-filled eyes boring into your own, his hand cupping your jaw as he licks the remnants of your orgasm from his lips. You’re pulling him down for a kiss, your body reacting quicker than your mind.

Lips pressing impossibly close to his, tongue already intruding his mouth, you’re kissing him with fervor, passion pouring into each movement of yours like mead into gilded glasses, a soft moan muffled against his lips at the taste of yourself on them.

His cock is resting dangerously close to where your every sense is begging for him, the wetness of his pre-cum smearing on your inner thigh.

“ _My lord. ”_

It’s all the urge that he needs as he breaks the kiss, forehead resting against your own as his hand slips between the minuscule space between the two of your bodies, guiding his cock to your aching core, his tip just  _barely_ brushing over your folds, teasing but not yet penetrating.

A strangled moan leaves your lips, eyes fluttering shut, “Please…” The syllable hangs in the air for a moment before his hips move slightly forward, pressing his length into your welcoming heat inch by inch. He revels in the sounds leaving your lips, his soft moans echoing in symphony with yours.

One of your hands cup his ass, reveling in the smooth feel of the muscle, other sliding up his back as he bottoms out, giving you a moment to adjust to his size, your walls fluttering around his girth.

Nails digging slightly into his shoulder, you meet his lips in another bruising kiss, tongue tangling with his own as he begins to move, pulling out all the way before moving back into you, setting a steady pace.

The sound of skin slapping against skin is the one sound audible in the otherwise silent room, punctuated by nothing but the occasional moan falling free from both your lips. His eyes don’t stray from your body, watching the rise and fall of your chest, following the drops of sweat sliding over your smooth skin.

He’s unable not to take pride in the fact that it’s  _him_ that’s got you breathing so heavily from nothing but pleasure.

His pace quickens, his cock repeatedly driving into you, catching something  _electric_ within you that has you screaming out his name as if it’s the one thing that you’ve managed to remember, no heed paid to who may hear.

Kissing him again, your lips press to his in a frenzy, muffling your sounds against their lusciousness.

He breaks it immediately, his chest brushing yours with every breath, “I want to hear you.”

Your eyes widen at his request but you relent, holding onto him through his continuing thrusts.

Your orgasm hits without any warning, the force of it catching you completely off guard, your walls clenching tightly around him. He falters slightly at the feeling of you, his thrusts slacking as his own high approaches. With his final thrusts, he’s kissing you again, soft and full of love, lips just brushing over yours as he fills you.

Lips still pressed to yours, he pulls out, eyes not leaving yours.

The words are whispered and yet, the admiration laced between every word, filling you with a completely  _different_  sort of warmth…

“I love you, my queen.”


	20. Thor Odinson sex headcanons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How sex with Thor Odinson would be like.

**\- When:** His days often consist of his kingly duties, leaving only the late hours of the night to spend with you. Often, he’ll walk into his chambers to find your sleeping form on his sheets, a small smile on your lips at the feeling of safety at having something that belonged to him wrapped around you. He’ll climb into bed with you, arm pulling you back against his frame as the soft kisses he presses to your shoulder, his stubble scratching at your sensitive skin successfully wakes you up. 

**\- Location:** Behind closed doors always. That’s not to say it only happens in the bedroom. The throne room has doors. The dining hall does too. 

-  **Why:** The answer is simple. You’re his queen and there’s nothing more he loves. 

-  **Noise level:** Mostly, it’s only the slap of skin against skin that fills the air of the room, any sounds leaving either of your mouths muffled against each other lips. 

And then, there are days where the pressures of being king get too much for one man to bear. 

-  **Position:** Lotus. The intimacy of the position is something that both of you revel in. Where it’s not a position that involves a lot of thrusting, it’s the way that your eyes stay locked onto his, hips rolling languidly into his at a pace that’s not quick but pleasurable in a way that promises an orgasm soon. 

-  **Rough? Gentle? :** It really depends on his day. Whether he allows the stresses of kinghood into the bedroom is completely up to him. Again, that’s not to say that you don’t trust him enough to let him ease his stress by being with you, often waking up the next morning unable to get out of bed. 

-  **Activities:**  
 *** Body worship:** It almost seems as if the way he works your body is more arousing to him than it is to you, letting his hands take their time meandering downwards, lips following slowly in a fashion that elicits the softest gasps from you. 

                 *  **Bondage:** Thor is big on trust. The position that you’re left in, vulnerable completely to him and anything that he wishes to do to you, is something that he revels in, listening to the way that your calm breathing falters at his first touch. 

                 * Oral: He’s definitely big on giving oral, loving the feeling of your hands tugging wildly at his hair as his mouth works over your pussy, relishing in the taste of you, lips wrapping around your clit and  _tugging_ slightly to have you tumbling headfirst into pleasurable oblivion. 

When you give him oral, it’s the soft moans leaving the god’s lips that leave you craving for more as you take him deeper into your mouth, eyes shut at the taste of him, nails digging slightly into his thighs to keep him from bucking his hips into your mouth, chasing after his release when you’re in the mood to make this last.        

-  **Aftercare:** Thor will kiss you softly, arms caging you against his body, leaving just enough space for you to shift into a more comfortable position. You’ll find yourself drifting off to sleep with the warmth emanating from his body, partially lying on top of him as your tired voice asks him to tell you a tale from one of his many adventures. The stories will often result in the two of you staying up well into the early hours of the morning, fantastical discussion filling the cool air flowing into the room as the gentle rays of sunlight filter into the room.


	21. Logan Howlett sex headcanons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How sex with Logan Howlett would be like.

-  **When:** Really, it happens randomly. You’ll be cooking pancakes one second and the next he’ll have you trapped between the counter and his body, his fingers moving slowly against you as soft mewls of pleasure leaves your lips, causing his hard-on to twitch in his jeans.  

-  **Location:** All the places everywhere. It’s as if he’s physically unable to keep his hands off of you. And when you’re wearing a dress, you’re basically asking for it (you usually end up smacking his hand off your ass and promising that you’re all his when you two get home…. ~~he’ll make sure you keep your promise~~ )

-  **Why:** No reason. It’s probably because you look so  _damn_ good wearing nothing but his favorite red shirt. (and also because he loves you)

-  **Noise level:** He gets off on making you scream. :)

-  **Position:** Missionary, no question. He loves to watch your facial expressions as he changes his angle and speed. Also, it’s a matter of pride for him to hear every single sound coming out of your mouth. 

Logan is usually on top but occasionally ( ~~not very often~~ ), he loves seeing you in control. He loves the way that your eyes widen in surprise when you’ve been trying to get him to his high before yourself and he grabs your hips hard enough to bruise and thrusts upward. 

-  **Rough? Gentle? :** Logan gets jealous really easily. He claims that he’s protective even if you know that he’s possessive. You spend a lot of him with Wade, him being one of your best friends, and when Logan sees how close you are to him…y i k e s. He’s not blind, he sees how beautiful you are and how many people flirt with you, but he can’t stop the way his blood boils as he sees Wade’s arm thrown casually over your shoulders as you both sing drunken ballads of Disney songs. It’s these times that you feel him for days after, your knees buckling like a newborn mare as you tried to walk. He takes it as a duty, a pleasurable duty to remind you among others who you belong to. Also, lots of bruises that he smirks at every time he catches a glimpse of them during the days, even after all the trouble you went through to hide them. 

It’s fact that Logan has been through a lot of shit in his life. It’s the days where he wakes up covered in a sheen of sweat that you kiss him softly, whispering that he’s safe here over and over again until he melts into your calming touches. These are the days where neither of you would dare break eye contact, the intimacy rising levels higher because of the simple action. 

-  **Activities:**

***** So much goddamn dirty talk. 

         *  **tHigH RiDing** (you’re nearly naked, wearing nothing but your shirt and he has you against a wall, his knee between your legs to prevent you from closing them. You’re quivering against his towering frame, your hips grinding on to his knee for the friction you so crave. The slow movement of your hips against his thigh. The rough drag of his jeans against your clit….)

         *  **Oral:** He loves giving you oral. He’s the type of person who’d randomly eat you out on a dining table because he was ‘hungry’ He loves holding you down as your back arches off whatever surface he has you on. And the view he gets from between your thighs…he’s takes pride in the fact that it’s no one else but him that’s got you like  _that._

When you give him a blow-job, his jaw is open wide as you wink at him from between his legs before taking all of him in. Small beads of sweat form on his chest and he’s heaving, low moans leaving his mouth and your nails are digging into his thighs as he bucks into your face. 

        * Beard burn. Everywhere. 

        * When he’s close to climaxing, the only sound that’ll leave his lips is a long drawn out growl that sets some sort of fire in your veins and gets you going again. 

        * This bastard is the type to finger you under the table when you’re outside. He’ll watch with a smug smile as you try to carry on a conversation even though your eyes are dazed and you have a vice grip on his wrist under the table, your voice wavering  _slightly._

-  **Aftercare:** Cuddles. So many. He won’t let go until you repeatedly whine that he’s too hot and you’re  ~~quite dramatically~~  dying. 

_Logan, you’re too hotttt._

_Oh, I know I am._

_You know what else you are?_

_Yours?_ (with a damn stupid smirk on his face)

_If you mean my bitch, you’re right._

Also, soft, languid kisses in which you both whisper how much you love the other against swollen lips.


	22. Mile High [Logan Howlett]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it’s really not his fault that you’re the most pleasant thing to think about when he’s in a metal canister, miles in the sky with a chance of crashing. (logan howlett x reader)

Stryker was an absolute son of a bitch. That much was fact.

Two missions over the span of a week had you pissed beyond limits. Sitting stiffly on one of the seats with the belt strapped tightly around you, rendering you nearly immobile, you kept your eyes focused on your feet, thinking about why you had even wanted to join the general’s secret band of misfits.

Little did you know how Logan was looking at you, with his nostrils flared and jaw clenched as the jet shook lightly from turbulence. He buried his head in his hands, a soft, barely audible groan leaving his lips.

“Will you guys shut the fuck up?” You demanded, growing annoyed at the banter, glaring at Wade’s remark to Victor about his ‘fingernails of a bag lady.’

It was then that you noticed how uncomfortable Logan looked, his eyes glazed over and hands clasped tightly together.

Without warning, he got out of his seat, walking out of the compartment, towards the back of the jet. You rose an eyebrow, ignoring the jeers from Wade and the smirks from the others as you followed him.

“Fuck off.” You mumbled under your breath.

The moment that you found Logan, just barely managing to open your mouth, he had you pinned against a wall, lips just brushing over yours.

You couldn’t have managed more than a small squeak of surprise at the sudden action and then his words, “I need a distraction.”

“Wha-”

It was then that he kissed you ferociously, one of his hands finding their way into your hair. You returned the kiss for a short moment before pushing him off.

Sure, you two had been fucking in secret for a while now. Sure, it was nothing more. Sure, you both enjoyed it immensely.

But still, it hurt a little that to him, it was nothing more than a distraction.

“Logan, this is the single worst idea you’ve ever had in your life.” 

“You sure as hell weren’t complaining seconds ago, baby.” Logan mumbled, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to the crease of your neck.

“You sure as hell weren’t letting me complain seconds ago,  _baby._ "You grumbled mockingly.  You felt him chuckle against the skin of your neck, the hair of his sideburns scratching lightly at your throat, making you gulp.

"We’re still distracting ourselves, ain’t we?” Another soft kiss was pressed to the side of your neck, his words muffled. A soft sigh escaped your lips, eyes closing from the gentle bliss of his lips.

“Logan, we can’t.”

“Who says?” Logan said, his hands moving slowly up your body. You gulped once more, pupils expanding as you met his eyes.

“We could get caught! We’re not even supposed to be….we’re on a mission!”

“You’ll just have to be quiet then, won’t you?” A smirk tugged at his lips as he watched your lips part in surprise at his words. You stood pressed between the wall and his towering frame, your chest brushing against his every time that you inhaled in the small, enclosed space of the jet’s storeroom.

“Lo-” Your words were cut off as soon as he pressed a desperate kiss to your lips, tearing a moan from the back of your throat at the sheer intensity of it. It was enough for him to press closer, now pinning you firmly to the wall of the small closet. Your hands flew to his hair, something snapping within you, making you press your lips closer to his.

It was needy. His hands roved over your body, feeling over every inch of your skin through the restrictive material of your clothing. You squirmed between his body and the wall, back arching off the wall at the frigidness of the metal.

Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging gently at the supple strands, soft sounds leaving your lips as your eyes stay shut tightly. Moments later, you broke the heated kiss, meeting his darkened eyes with your own.

A soft growl flew past his lips, causing you to rub your thighs subconsciously together, the need for  _his_ touch, for  _any_  friction at all growing higher and higher with each passing second.

His hands fumbled with the material of your shirt, his teeth catching your bottom lip. A choked moan left your lips as his hands slipped under the cotton fabric, warm hands making contact with your waist and sliding higher still.

You broke the kiss to catch your breath, pupils dilated and face hot.

“Jesus.” You said, breathlessly, chest heaving. The smirk that tugged at his lips had your face growing hot, gently biting your lip. A barely audible moan left your lips as his mouth lowered to your neck, sucking and biting at the skin.

You took a short, sharp breath as you felt the suction that his lips formed around a small area of the soft skin.

“Logan…” You whined softly, knowing that that would definitely leave a mark. He only growled softly, another gentle bite lighting your skin on fire. His hands traveled higher, now cupping the underside of your breasts, thumbs  _just_ barely grazing over your nipples.

“Goddamnit, Logan!” You hissed at his teasing, “We don’t have time.”

He laughed slightly against your neck, “Not so long ago, if I’m remembering correctly, you weren’t up for this.” He said, his gruff voice sending shivers down your spine.

“That was before you decided to be a dick and take your chances with me anyway.”

“Hm, that why you were moaning my name moments ago? Cause I’m a dick?”

“Logan, I swear to– _oh hell._ ” All the air you had in you lungs left you in one quick breath as his thumbs started rubbing slow, concentric circles around your nipples, his hands having slipped under your bra during your short conversation.

“You might wanna keep quiet if we’re gonna keep goin’,” You felt him grin against your neck before he continually pressed soft kisses to your neck, causing you to crane your neck. Your hands fell from his shoulders, sliding down his torso as you kissed him deeply once more, muffling your moans against his mouth. He returned the kiss immediately, breaking it seconds later only to tug your shirt off.

Logan pressed close to you, knee between your legs to keep you from closing them. One of his hands found their way into your hair, holding your head and simply looking at you. You stood frozen, captivated by his darkened eyes because as far as you could remember he’d never looked at you like  _that_  before. Not once.

Gulping softly, you tugged his shirt off, hands coming to rest on his chest the moment that the restrictive material left his body. He was the first to kiss you again, this time much softer, his lips just barely moving against yours. Your nails dragged gently down his torso, earning a low moan from him before he pressed his lips closer to yours, deepening the kiss with a soft huff.

Your hands arrived at the top of his pants, struggling at the belt.

“Need a little help there?” He asked.

“The only thing you could possibly do is stop wearing belts completely. For my sake.” You smirked, successfully undoing it and pulling him closer using the two ends of the leather. He stumbled towards you, a low feral growl leaving his lips.

This time, when he kissed you, there wasn’t a trace of emotion there. Just pure, unparalleled need.

He worked your pants off within seconds, nearly ripping them off.

You gasped softly, hand slipping into his boxers as you heard his pants drop to the floor with a thud, the metal buckle of the belt clicking against the floor, echoing just a bit louder than you would’ve like it to.

Logan didn’t seem to mind, however, one of his knees pressed between your legs to let himself be as physically close to you as possible. You took his prominent erection in your hand, gently working it. Another soft growl left his lips as he pulled your hand up, pressing it to the wall.

“Not yet,”

“Why not?” You rose an eyebrow, fighting against his grip.

“'Cause I said so,” He muttered, wanting to ensure he had control over the pace at which this was going.

“Dic–” You mumbled, a sharp intake of air cutting off your insult as he pushed his knee upwards. He kissed you again, not letting go of your hand but instead lacing his fingers with yours.

“Logan, please.” You whined softly, trying and failing to null your need for friction by rubbing your thighs together and failing due to his thigh. He didn’t reply, tongue forcing its way into your mouth.

A shaky moan left your lips as you did the one thing you could. You ground down on his thigh, the thick muscle pressing to your core, sending delicious sparks of electricity up your spine.

You felt him stiffen, hand tightening around yours. Taking that as a good sign, you moved your hips once more.

He broke the kiss, looking at you with his darkened eyes, seemingly darker than before. You felt his hand drop down to your hip, applying a gentle pressure, urging you to move forward. Gulping, you let him guide your moments, unable to hold back the moans spilling from your lips.

Your eyes shut tightly, simply reveling in the pleasure that you were feeling. Logan couldn’t take his eyes off of your flustered form, hair wild and breaths coming in hard gasps.

His name left your mouth in a broken syllable, mouth hanging open as you continued moving your hips against his thigh.

“You look so fucking good like that, baby.” He managed to ground out, unable to help the twitch of his erection as his eyes drank in your body. Your breath hitched at his words, causing a shaky moan to leave your lips.

His grip tightened fractionally on your hips as you leaned forward, burying your heated face in his neck.

“Logan, I’m…fuck… I can’t…” Your words were muffled and against his neck, your heavy breaths punctuating each word, unable to form a comprehensible sentence.  

“Come for me, baby. Just let go.” Logan’s voice was strained as he took in your face, contorted in pleasure. His words of encouragement were enough to send you tumbling head-first into a wave of euphoria.

You could feel your thighs quiver at the gentle, pleasurable waves of your orgasm, now seeping from your panties and coating his thigh. Logan’s grip didn’t loosen on your hip, only his knee changing position to now rest beside your hip, your breaths still heavy against his neck.

“Oh my god.” You gasped out. Neither of you said a word for a few moments.

“The hell are you waiting for?” You ground out, kissing his jaw as you broke the silence, “We’re not done here.”

Logan couldn’t help the upward twitch of his lips at your words, inhaling the scent of your orgasm.  

Without warning, a soft yelp left your lips as you felt the material of your panties leave your body with ease. Your jaw clenched as you felt your sensitive pussy exposed to the air.

“That is the seventh goddamn pair that you have ripped.” You gasped, eyes flitting to the torn, lavender material in his hand.

He didn’t bother to reply, instead kissing you fiercely again, your moan muffled against his mouth.

His body, pressed you back further against the wall, hand  _still_ entangled with yours. You felt the tip of his erection graze your labia, coaxing a shaky groan from your lips.

“Logan, please.”

His cock rested against your inner thigh, so damn close to where you wanted him to be.

Logan lined himself up with you, gently lifting your leg over his hip and pushing in, inch by inch, causing your breath to hitch.

It’s slow at first, his gaze unwavering as he rested his forehead against yours, hips moving slowly to make sure you felt  _every, single_ inch of him thrusting in and out of you.

Shaky breaths left your lips, sending ghostly whispers of air brushing over his lips. You were the first to kiss him in an attempt to stifle your moans against his mouth. He reciprocated immediately, tongue sliding past your lips.

His pace picked up fairly quickly, hips slamming into the apex of your thighs, nothing but the occasional moan slipping from both your lips in symphony with the wet sounds of his thrusts into you.

Both your orgasms were quick to arrive, your walls squeezing around his cock to send him over the edge.

Your breaths were still strained, chest heaving and mouth still open in an attempt to get enough air to your lungs.

He pulled out of you slowly, getting his clothes. You followed his lead, not a word leaving either of your lips.

This was how it usually was after the deed had been done.

Silence.

Occasional. longing glances.

But neither of your said a thing because neither of you knew what to say.

“You owe me seven pairs.” You joked softly.

“You should really stop keeping count, it’s just gonna keep racking up.” He smiled.

No, it wasn’t the smile that he gave the others. It was real. Genuine. Lips tilted upwards crookedly, leaving just a sliver of his teeth visible.

You couldn’t help but mirror his smile.

“You should go first. I’ll follow.” He offered, the smile fading.

“Never thought I’d hear you say that.” You winked at him, earning a low growl, “I’m going, I’m going.” You put your hands up in mock defeat, biting back the smile before you made yourself as presentable as possible, walking back to where the rest of the crew was sitting.

“Took a long time to find him.” Wade remarked matter-of-factly as you sat down next to him.

“Your point is?”

“Nothing. Must’ve been a long talk.”

You rose an eyebrow.

“Loud, too.”


	23. More about Logan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bc im a hoe for him

**How good is he at oral?**

_So good._

It’s the feeling of his hot tongue nuzzling its way between your outer lips… the relentless scratch of his sideburns at the soft skin of your inner thighs…the nearly bruising grip of his hands on your hips, holding you wide open for him, only tightening to keep you still as your hips buck erratically against his lips…

And the way that his eyes  _never fucking leave yours_ … that smirk playing on his lips, you know…. _that_ one that pulls at one corner of his mouth, so close to a smile but not quite there. His darkened eyes, pools of chaos, so enticing and so  _fucking sinful_ just taking in the flush of your entire body, your soft, wanton whimpers and your  _screams_ of his name,  _begging… urging_  him to  _please keep going… please don’t stop_

And the bastard knows exactly what he’s doing to you because he  _doesn’t stop_ even after you’ve orgasmed, your thighs quivering, his tongue still circling and bathing your entire pussy in its wet warmth…

 

**Is he an ass or a boob guy?**

Logan’s definitely an ass man.

There’s just something about your ass, so perky and so fucking beautiful that he can’t help the way that his hand twitches as he walks past you, casually slapping it  _hard,_ earning a loud yelp from you, his only response being a wide grin followed by a wink. 

It’s not much different in the bedroom. His hands are always on your ass. He’ll be pounding into you from behind and suddenly you’ll feel a sharp pain as his hand makes contact with your ass, earning a lewd moan from your lips. Needless to say, you’ll be unable to sit comfortably for the entirety of the next week.

Then those times when his head is between your legs and your hands tugging wildly at his hair, whimpers leaving your mouth because it just  _feels so fucking good_ and you can feel his smirk against you, his hands grabbing handfuls of your ass to pull you closer to his mouth….his low moan at the taste of you…


	24. Does Logan Purr?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to know.

It’s not so much “purring” as it is a low, contented grumble. He’ll be particularly bound to make this noise when you have your hands in his hair. The perfect position for you to run your hands through the silken strands is when the two of you are taking a bath, you sitting in his lap with his hands resting lightly on your hips. You’ll be working the shampoo into his hair, fingers moving in gentle, minuscule circles on his scalp, working up a lather. His head will be resting against your collarbone, taking a deep inhale of your scent, lips pressing a soft kiss to the skin there. 

You can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips at how relaxed he looks, the stress that was so prominent in his life disappearing from his body at the motions of your hands. You’re not sure what prompts him to make that noise but the moment that your nails scratch his scalp, washing the shampoo away, a gentle grumble leaves his lips, the sound causing your eyes to darken, smile widening in slight triumph at having found one of his weaknesses. 

With your hands tugging at his shampoo-laden hair, his hands tightening on your hips, it’s obvious how you find yourself kissing him fiercely, lips molding into his with undeniable lust. It’s all teeth and tongue, no emotion evident in either of you desperate gasps, despite the gentleness of his body not seconds ago. His calloused hands would slide down to your thighs, pulling you ever closer to his cock, its length brushing against your folds, causing an unbidden moan to leave your lips, causing you to break the kiss to catch your breath.

He’ll be looking up at you with the smallest smirk tugging at his lips, eyes now darkened pools of oblivion. Suddenly, he’s got his lips on you again, working over your neck, biting and sucking at the sensitive skin, leaving glaring red marks. You’re mewling his name, back arching. His lips move lower, and he’s looking up at you with a  _fucking sinful_ glint in his eye as his mouth closes around your pert nipple, the warmth of his tongue making contact with the bud. 

You’re gasping for breath at the light bite, hands tugging at his hair harshly. It’s  _that_  sound again, causing your hips to jerk into his, a jolt of a pleasure shooting through your body at the slight friction. With one of his hands working your other breast, kneading the soft flesh, thumb rubbing slow, concentric circles around your nipple, he’s got you squirming in his lap, begging for more.

_“Logan…”_

His cock twitches against you. He really can’t help it with how  _helpless_ you sound,  _pleading_  him for something more.

“Tell me what you want,  _kitten_.” The phrase is simple enough, leaving his mouth with slight restraint. But it hangs in the air, filling it with a heavy  _want_.

“Fuck..want you so bad, daddy. Want your cock so bad.” Logan can’t stop himself with the way that you’re rolling your hips into his with every word, his hand slipping between your bodies to guide his erect cock to your welcoming warmth, tip gliding over your folds, not penetrating. 

“Daddy,  _please_.” It’s with that that his hips thrust upwards, filling you with his girth, stretching you so  _fucking deliciously._ The moan that leaves your lips is one that has him growling against your skin, mouth still latched onto your nipple. Allowing for the shortest moment for you to adjust to his size, his thrusts his hips upwards experimentally. 

Within moments the pace has reached its peak, your hips rising and falling onto his own, one of his hands digging into your hip while the other holds you flush against his body. 

His name leaves your lips in an endless manner, the tip of his cock brushing against your g-spot with the angle that he’s thrusting into you at. You’re close, so close.

With every rise and fall of you hips, water falls out of the tub, that being the only other sound in the room, punctuated by the symphony of both your moans.

His eyes seem to be completely unable to leave your body, taking in every detail from the way that your lips are parted to that way that the hickies he’s left on your neck. 

You’re whimpering incoherent phrases, orgasm washing over you in gentle waves. The clenching of your walls around his cock triggering his own orgasm, hot strings of his release filling you. 

He kisses over the marks he’d left on you, breathing heavy and chest heaving slightly, his wet hair sticking to his head. 

You’re definitely making him make  _that_  noise again.


	25. Static [Logan Howlett]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he can’t keep his hands off of you, no matter what you happen to be doing at the moment. (logan howlett x reader)

“ _Stop it.”_ You demand softly, trying to catch the insistent hands gliding all over your body, Logan’s breath falling on your neck.

“Not so sure you want me to, sweetheart.” He whispers, voice hoarse, clearly strained, trying to hold himself back from taking you right then and there.

“I’m on the fucking phone, asshole.” You snap, pressing a hand over the receiver to muffle your words.

It’s not as if he’s going to listen. Of fucking course not. He’s Logan. You’re not really sure what you expect when his lips press to your shoulder, leaving a gentle, lingering kiss.

“Logan.” His name leaves your lips in a clipped tone, bringing the phone back to your ear, trying to focus on the sound of Hank’s voice trying to explain an all-important mission, rather than the feeling of his hands all over your fucking body, applying  _just_ the right amount of pressure in  _just_ the right places to have you squirming against him.

His low chuckle reverberates in the still silence of the room, nothing but the occasional crinkle of static from the phone filling the air. Knowing that with how quickly he could have you screaming his name as if it were the one thing you knew, you elbow him slightly, tilting your head back to glare at him.

The low growl that leaves his lips, audible to none other but you, is enough to make your breath catch in your throat, much to his pride. His lips find their way to the crook of your neck, one of his hands finding their way to the swell of your breasts. You’re forced to bite back a moan as his teeth scrape lightly against your pulse point, thumbs working gentle, concentric circles around your nipples through the material of your shirt.

Your eyes close, lip held hostage between your teeth, trying to listen to Hank rather than the pounding of your heart, the blood pumping harshly and loudly in your ears, entire body hot under Logan’s touch.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ wreck you.” The words affect you more than they should because you’re  _supposed to_  be listening to Hank. He’s  _supposed to_ keep his fucking hands to himself. But you’re not listening to Hank and he’s got his hands all over you, flared nostrils catching the sweet scent of your arousal, causing his cock to twitch in his boxers.

You’re leaning back into him, body betraying the fact that you were loving every single damned thing he did. Not that he needed the clue. He knew, of course, he knew. Your struggle to answer Hank gave everything away, shaky words strung breathlessly together, barely able to leave your mouth in a comprehensible succession.

“ _Yes.”_ You’re not sure who the phrase is intended for, too dazed by Logan’s ministrations on your body. Hank seems to think it’s for him and Logan seems to think it’s for him, taking the simple word as permission, his other hand slipping into your panties, the other still working your breast in his hand, massaging the soft globe of flesh.

You nearly drop the phone at the contact of the calloused pads of his fingers, brushing past your folds, gathering your wetness, your hips jerking, “Mhm.” You manage to Hank, his rambling barely finding its way to your ears.

Logan’s smirk is evident, lips still pressed against your neck, suddenly biting at the vulnerable skin. You take a gasping breath, grip tightening on the phone in your hand.

His fingers continue to move slowly against you, teasing, tips pressing slightly against your entrance but  _never,_ never penetrating. Your thighs try to press closer together,  _craving_ any friction.

“So eager,” His chuckle sends another flood of warmth through your body, one of his fingers  _finally_ pressing into you. Your back arches against his chest, a moan crawling up your throat, only to be swallowed down moments later, the remaining sanity you had forcing it back.

Logan’s finger begins pumping  _so fucking slowly_ in and out of your heat _._ You want to moan, you want to cry out his name, you want to  _beg_ him to go faster. You can’t.

His lips are still dragging over your neck, sliding over every inch of visible skin, claiming you for his own, nose nudging slightly at your jawline, causing a soft, barely audible moan to spill from your lips. You can feel his smirk widen against your skin, another finger slipping into your awaiting heat, the pace still slow as he continues to move his fingers, only giving you the slightest taste of the pleasure that you so wanted.

With one hand still holding the phone tightly, your other hand grips his hand, trying to urge him to go faster. He doesn’t, fingers still moving as slow as ever. He’s got your thighs quivering at his teasing, thumb sliding between your folds to find your clit, applying a light pressure to the bundle of nerves.

Your nails are digging into his arm,  _begging_ him to go faster. Seeing your flustered state, a small smile of amusement finding its way onto his lips at seeing you hopelessly try to carry on a conversation when you’re clearly struggling. He finally picks up the pace, fingers curling and thrusting into you. He’s holding you up, lust-filled eyes taking in the state of your body, the sound of your breathless gasps escaping despite your attempts to stay silent.

A moan spills past your lips, eyes still screwed tightly shut. You gasp, stiffening slightly at the mere prospect of Hank having heard you. His fingers don’t falter despite your slip-up, bringing you ever closer to your orgasm.

You’re not even holding the phone to your ear at this point, focused utterly and completely focused on  _Logan,_ and nothing but  _Logan_.

His fingers are curling and thrusting, finding that one spot within you. You can’t help the moans spilling from your lips, you’re  _close, so goddamn close._

Logan doesn’t stop. You’re gasping for breath, the phone now on the ground, having dropped to the ground as your orgasm had crashed into you. You’re clinging to his arm, his fingers slowing and sliding out of your heat, walls fluttering around the sudden emptiness.

You don’t see him lick his fingers free of your orgasm but with the low groan that leaves his lips, you know that he’s definitely done it, hands still holding you close, your chest still heaving from the force of your orgasm.

Taking a moment to gather yourself, you’re lunging for the phone within seconds, holding it back to your ear. Nothing is heard but static.

And then his laughter. It’s a sound that reverberates through the room, filling it with a sense of something like home and distinctly  _him._

“He hung up not soon after we started, sweetheart.”


	26. Dinner [Logan Howlett]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> when he suggests to try something new, you're glad you agree. (logan howlett x reader)

You’re not sure what to focus on, the calloused pads of his fingers pressing against the soft skin of your hips, your own fingers gripping the headboard, soft cries of his name leaving your lips in an endless plea. **  
**

Back arching, you find yourself unable to keep your eyes open or your hips still, grinding down on his tongue. He’s devouring you with renewed vigor at your movements, pulling you down flush against his mouth.

“ _Logan_.” The word leaves your mouth so fucking  _helplessly,_  so  _haplessly_. He smirks against you, the tip of his tongue finding your clitoris, applying the lightest pressure to the bundle of nerves, fingers digging even harder into your hips, sure to leave marks.

His lips wrap around the sensitive bud, sucking it into his mouth. A downright pornographic moan leaves your lips, eyes snapping open. A jolt of pleasure runs through you and your hips rise up of their own accord. You risk a glance down at him. You wish you hadn’t.

Logan’s got this devilish smirk playing at his lips, almost as if he’s enjoying it more that you are. You’re a mess, thighs quivering, chest heaving, completely breathless on top of his mouth.

You don’t remember how he’d convinced you to get in this position in the first place, but fuck are you glad that you’d agreed.

Your hips move of their own will, no longer needing his hands to guide your movements as you begin to grind down on his mouth. Soft whimpers leave your lips, shaky, incomprehensible words filling the air.  

The coil in your stomach is tight, a feeling of unexplainable warmth spreading through every nerve in your body, dragging you down down down into ordered chaos.

And Logan?

Well, he’s enjoying this. More than he should really. He’s not on the receiving end but he can’t help the electricity coursing through him because it’s him that’s got you so damned  _wrecked_  and  _breathless_.

You’re whimpering, the sounds barely audible. You’re close, so fucking close. His mouth is working over everything, teeth, and tongue taking no time to pause through his ministrations on your core.

_Logan. Logan. Logan._

It’s the one thing leaving your lips, echoing in symphony with your gasps.

And then, he moans.

It’s low and guttural and the vibrations that travel over you leave you choking on much-needed air.

He doesn’t stop, tongue pressing past your barriers, reveling in the taste of you.

The coil tightens and snaps. You’re gasping and whimpering and moaning as you reach your high, his tongue refusing to stop, jaw still working to prolong your orgasm.

His grip loosens fractionally on your hips but his lips don’t stop their actions on you. Your orgasm seems to last forever, pleasure filling your every nerve, body rigid. Eventually, his mouth stops. You roll off of him, breaths still coming in heavy gasps, staring at the ceiling with dazed, half-lidded eyes.

“Not too bad, was I?” He asks, smirk wide on his lips as he licks them free of your orgasm, pupils still dilated with want.

“I hate you.”

“Really? Didn’t seem like it when you were moanin’ my name, sweetheart.” With that, he kisses you, tongue finding it’s way into your mouth almost immediately, drawing another moan from you at the taste of yourself intermingled with him.

Needless to say, your endeavors for the night didn’t end there.


	27. Straddling him [Logan Howlett]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> what straddling logan would lead to. (logan howlett x reader)

It starts out as a game, a challenge as to which one of you gives into the other first. 

It’s all slow, languid kisses, wandering hands, and the softest prick of a teasing bite. Needless to say, the gentleness of the kiss doesn’t last long, lust working quickly to fill both your veins, lips parting and tongues exploring. 

Neither of you are willing to break the kiss but the parting of your lips is inevitable with the burning fire in both your lungs, leaving no choice but to succumb to the human need for oxygen. And it happens quicker than you’d expect it to, your shirt coming off within seconds, his hands much too eager to hesitate in their exploration of the now bare skin, the same fascination in his eyes as if it was his first time with you. 

You’re pressing your lips to his in a frenzy within seconds, hands tangling in his hair, tugging at the strands, your tongue intruding into his mouth to tangle passionately with his. 

The soft moan that leaves his lips sends a spark through you, hips rolling into his of their own accord because there’s nothing but  _want_ filling your veins. And maybe that’s what gives you the boost of the confidence you need to take the lead. 

You’re hovering over him within seconds, pussy resting against his half-hardened cock, skin separated by nothing but the thin material of his sweats, irises barely visible with your expanded pupils resembling pools of oblivion…

His hands rest lightly on your hips, a smirk on his lips. It falters momentarily as you grind your hips into his, lips parting to allow for a strained groan to escape.

“Admit that I won.” The taunt leaves your lips in a purr, lips tugging crookedly up into a sultry smile, the movement of your hips not daring stop. 

And yes, you have won. He hasn’t managed to stay quiet through your ministrations on him. You have won, yes. 

But with the way that his hands tighten on your hips, it’s clear that he’s not going to admit that. And with the speed that he leans up, kissing you with vigor, stealing your breath with the gentlest bite as he catches your bottom lip between his teeth, you can’t help but find yourself questioning the authenticity of your victory. 


	28. giving him a blowjob  [Logan Howlett]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> giving logan a blowjob

The majority of the time, when Logan’s being intimate with someone, he’s a giver. But that’s not to say that he won’t be accepting of being on the receiving end. 

He’ll sit back, watching with this  _complete and utter fascination_  with your every movement as you kiss slowly down his body, eyes not daring to leave your mischief-tainted pupils. He finds himself with almost no control in this situation, lips parting at the soft pressure of your lips. 

Your tongue peeks out of your mouth, tracing the lines of his hardened muscle with a ghost-like touch. He’s got his jaw clenched at the teasing, wanting nothing more in that moment but to force his cock into your mouth. 

It’s definitely a test of his self-control. He’s got a lot of it…in every other situation except this one as his hips buck upwards toward your face. Your response isn’t to give him what he wants but instead to dig your nails into the muscle of his thighs, warning him wordlessly that if he dares to move, you’ll completely  _stop._

Logan gets the message, and he doesn’t have much choice but to accept it because  _why the hell would he want you to stop?_ His breathing quickens at the gentle bites along his v-line, the drag of your teeth setting him on edge. 

When your tongue does eventually make contact with the head of his cock, you’re rewarded with a sharp groan, his head falling back into the pillows. You make sure to be slow with your movements, teasing him just as he’d teased you countless times before. Focusing on keeping the pressure of your tongue light on him, you take your time tasting the salty pre-cum leaking from his tip, moaning at the unique flavor of  _him._

The vibrations from your sound have him  _absolutely fucking winded._ His hand doesn’t take long to fall to your hair, tangling and tugging at the strands, wordlessly begging you to give him what he’s been  _craving_ for so fucking long. You relent, mouth wrapping around his girth, tongue gliding languidly over his cock. 

Maybe it’s the swears leaving his lips in a breathless fashion or maybe it’s the moans leaving his lips but you can’t help how quickly your own hand slips between your legs as you revel in his sounds, unable to not take pride in the fact that you’re the one who’s got him so powerless in a position where you should be the one with no power. 

He’s struggling to keep his hips still, that much is obvious, the muscles of his thighs tense as you take him deeper, the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat. Your fingers massage his balls gently, his hand only tugs more harshly at your hair and yet, he’s still careful not to hurt you. 

You continue to bob your head around his cock, breathing through your nose. The warning that tries to leave his lips of his coming orgasm dissolves into a low moan, the sound starting at his chest. Your response to his reaction is to apply a very deliberate pressure against the protruding vein on the side of his cock, running your tongue along its length. 

It’s the simple movement that has him  _gasping_ out your name, the lightest layer of sweat covering his chest as he succumbs to his orgasm, strings of his pleasure coating your tongue. 

You’ve got him breathless as you kiss your way back up his body, smirk seeming permanently glued to your lips as you hover over him once more, darkened eyes gazing into his own as you straddle his hips, licking your lips. 

“Still got it in you for another round, old man?” 

And maybe it’s the teasing lull of your voice or the taunt itself but within seconds, you’re not the one in control anymore, his hungry eyes raking over every inch of your body, his demeanor close,  _too close_ to that of a predator eyeing its prey. 


	29. A Little Help [Logan Howlett]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> logan masturbating.

It really doesn’t take much to get him on edge. Maybe it’s the lightest brush of your fingertips across his hand as you take the cup of coffee that’s he’s offered after he found you asleep on the lab counter, having had a late night of work. Or maybe it’s the deliberate smirk playing on your lips after you’ve somehow managed to take him down during a sparring session, straddling his chest, a soft taunt leaving your lips that sounds something like, “Losing your touch, Kitty Claws?”

Not that the remark registers in his head because he’s much too focused on how close your pussy is to his mouth and how _fucking desperate_ he is to get a taste. He can smell the sweet, teasing scent filling his every sense with nothing but  _you._

It wouldn’t take much to grab hold of your thighs and pull you over his mouth and  _devour_ you, listening to the  _absolutely delicious_ sounds that would leave your lips as his lips, tongue, and teeth worked over you. And maybe, his name would leave your lips in a breathless plea. Maybe your hands would be in his hair. Maybe your thighs would try to close around his head. Maybe you’d come all over his fucking mouth,  _screaming_ out his name _._

Logan knows he’s in  _too fucking deep_. But he can’t help the tightness of his pants late at night, waking up covered in a light sheen of sweat from yet another dream of having his throbbing cock buried deep in you, the moans spilling from your lips sounding  _too fucking real._ His mouth is dry, shaky hands running through his hair, a barely audible swear leaving his lips. 

His pants come off before he realizes it, eager hands removing his belt a little heavy-handedly, having forgotten to remove it the when he’d fallen asleep. A low groan leaves his lips as his hand traces the hardness of his cock through his boxers, imagining the pressure to have been coming from  _your_ hand. There’s a stain on his boxers from the pre-cum leaking from his tip. 

“ _Shit.”_

The boxers come off almost immediately, he’s much too in need of relief to even bother teasing himself like he  _knows_ you’d tease him. His hand wraps loosely around his cock, a long hiss leaving his lips at the contact. 

His movements are slow at first, the fist of his dominant hand working up and down his length, his other hand tangled in the sheets. And he wonders, some filthy and  _fucking needy_ part of his mind wondering how you’d look splayed over his bed, letting out a sweet moan that he can’t help but relish in as he kissed you, tongue forcing its way into your mouth to tangle with yours. And he’d rock into you gently and you’d be begging for his cock, for something  _more_ –

“ _Fuck.”_

He’d have to thrust into you slowly, fighting with himself to not just fucking  _take you_ like he’d wanted to so many damn times. And you’d moan, those pretty lips of yours parting, all red and wanting, wordlessly begging for his cock to slip between them. He’d have to make a mental note of that as he bottoms out, giving you a moment to adjust, walls fluttering around his length. 

He’d have to start off slow at first, biting harshly at the skin of your neck, claiming you as  _his._ He’d pick up his rhythm slowly, the sound of wet skin slapping against wet skin being the only sound to fill the air of the room in symphony with the occasional moan from either of your lips. 

His movements would be so  _fucking animalistic,_ the pace quickening within seconds and his hands would slip between your legs, thumb circling around your clit and you’d shudder, nails dragging down his back and–

You’d  _scream_ his name, telling  _everyone_ whose you were, thighs quivering as you came. 

And  _that_  would have him coming within seconds, hips gradually slowing down. 

He moans, continuing to jerk himself off, a familiar warmth spreading through his every nerve. His thumb presses against his tip, gentle circles tracing the sensitive head. He relishes in the rough drag of his calloused palm against his cock, gritting his teeth. 

He’s close,  _so fucking close_ and it hasn’t even been a solid ten minutes. 

His jaw clenches, eyes shutting tightly at the sensation. A strained growl leaves his lips as he peaks, back arching off the mattress, strings of hot cum covering his hand through his continuing movements, trying to make the pleasure of his high last as long as possible, breathlessly collapsing back into bed. 

Too lost in his pleasured reverie, Logan’s mind doesn’t register the fact he may have been a little too loud, or the fact that he’s groaned out your name as he’s orgasmed, or the fact that you’re standing just outside his door, a grin playing at your lips. 


	30. Hot [Logan Howlett]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> car sex with logan.

There’s something  _hot and heavy_  in the air, wandering hands gliding over every inch of exposed skin, not daring leave anything unexplored. It’s impossible to focus on anything but Logan, your lips moving in a lustful frenzy against his, his tongue teasing your bottom lip, begging wordlessly for permission.

It’s granted without much hesitation, hands sliding up his back and into his hair, pulling him impossibly closer, tongue sliding against his. A weak moan leaves your lips at the sheer intensity of the kiss, the small space only forcing him to be close to you. Maybe, that’s what so arousing. Or maybe, it’s the look of unadulterated lust in his eyes, nothing separating the two of your bodies as his hand slips down your body.

And the smirk that follows, his lips quirking upwards crookedly in that smug fashion of his, it’s  _filthy and fucking deliberate_ because he  _knows exactly what he’s fucking doing_ and -

It’s slow at first, the tip of his cock moving languidly along your folds, gathering the natural wetness coming from you and yet, not penetrating. All breath leaves your lungs in one short gasp, eyes snapping open at the contact. He’s right there, breath fanning over your lips, eyes locked onto yours. The smirk doesn’t fade from his lips, one of his hands positioned against the window to hold the upper half of his body off you, however still situated close enough for your chests to brush with every shaky inhale. 

His hips move slightly, causing your nails to dig into his shoulders at the teasing. 

“ _Logan.”_

The way his name leaves your lips traverses the territory between a plea and a threat of  _if you don’t fucking do something soon, I’ll do it myself._ It’s encouragement enough as he guides his cock to your core, sinking in closely, making sure that you felt  _every fucking inch_ of him. 

Your back arches into him, the heat emanating from his body surrounding you with this…this feeling of  _safety._

The pace is slow. Not the kind of slow that leaves you aching and unsatisfied but the kind of slow that leaves you breathless, the kind of slow that says  _you’ll come when I let you._

And it’s  _so fucking frustrating_ because there’s been so much goddamn teasing and you just want him to  _fuck you._ You nails dig into his shoulders. The message doesn’t go through because he’s still thrusting into your welcoming heat slowly, taking his time with you, hands refusing to stop exploring the gentle slopes of your body responding to every movement of his. 

“ _Please.”_ You roll your hips into his with that. And maybe it’s the smaller space that you’re in, or the steam on the window or how  _wrecked_ you sound, but it’s enough. His hips jerk into yours, forcing a sharp cry to spill from your lips. 

Logan presses his lips to yours, swallowing your cries as his hips continue to move, sending you into a completely different sort of chaos. Other than the vulgar sound of skin slapping against skin, there isn’t another sound that fills the electricity of the air. 

You’re clenching around his cock, lips moving messily with his. The pace he’s setting has you rushing towards an orgasm, teeth catching his bottom lip. 

“You gonna cum, sweetheart? You gonna cum all over my fucking cock?” 

The words cause a lewd moan to escape despite all your attempts to muffle your cries of pleasure. 

“Yes!” 

It’s the simple syllable that causes his cock to twitch inside you, sending you reeling towards your high as he presses an open-mouthed kiss to the curve of your jaw. 

He’s almost there too, groaning as he feels your walls fluttering around his length. It’s an overload of his sense, everything dialed up to a higher definition. He’s not sure whether to focus on the sweet scent of your orgasm or the moans leaving your lips at his continuing thrusts or the feel of your nails dragging down his back. 

Logan cums with a low growl, the sound sending shockwaves of  _something_ through you _._ It causes a warmth to spread through your body, breathing still unsteady as he pulls out, your body already feeling the loss of him as exhaustion begins to creep in. 

He kisses you again. Softly. 

“Don’t think I’m done with you yet.”

And the words mumbled against your lips, are promise enough that you’re _his._


	31. For the Count  [Logan Howlett]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> logan spanking you.

It’s an anchor, the soft sheets tangling in your fists, the thick muscle of his thigh pressed against your bare stomach. His fingers glide along the soft curves of your body, slipping between your legs to brush lightly against your folds. And yet, he’s careful not to  _touch,_ leaving you keening for any sort of reprieve. 

Logan’s  nose glides along the curve of your back, taking a deep inhale of your scent, breaking it down and committing every facet of it from the hibiscus-scented soap to the hardened layer of blood underneath to memory. 

His movements are gentle, hands manipulating the flesh of your ass gently, setting you on edge with every brush of his calloused fingers on your skin. You relax. And maybe it’s your first mistake. 

You don’t expect the first slap, the contact causing a sharp cry of something that sounds vaguely like, “Fuck, Logan!” to leave your lips. It stings, the lit embers in the core of your stomach climbing slowly towards an inferno. 

His voice is gruff, barely controlled, “Count.” The command is simple enough but still, manages to make you clutch tighter at the sheets. 

The second slap doesn’t come immediately because he  _knows_ you’re ready for it. He  _teases,_ fingers daring to venture everywhere and nowhere at once. And it’s  _really fucking arousing._ Not that you’d ever admit that. Not that you’d ever  _need_ to admit that. Your body betrays everything, arousal sticky between your legs. 

The scent of your slick intoxicates him, sending him into a stupor that causes his feral instincts to rage, his will  _just_ barely able to contain them from taking your right then and there. 

Nothing but the sound of your slow, anticipating breathing fills the air. Until his palm makes contact with your ass cheek, causing a sharp cry to leave your lips, “Two!” 

You’ve got your eyes shut tightly at this point, the sting of the slap refusing to ebb away for a long moment, his hands kneading the soft flesh, trying to soothe the sting away. 

Logan’s fingers slip between your legs, stroking you slowly as he revels in the way that you squirm,  _craving_ his touch, wordlessly  _begging_ for it. He continues to tease, the tips of his fingers seeking your clit. 

A low moan leaves your lips at his ministrations, your position leaving you no choice but to succumb to him. 

_ThreeFourFive_

They come in quick succession, catching you completely off guard, stealing every breath of air from your lungs at the pleasurable agony. You’re breathless, struggling to keep count. 

He leans down, lips gliding along the curve of your back, barely brushing the surface of your skin as he nips lightly at it. Your only response is a soft whimper, the sound causing his cock to twitch in his boxers at the fact that it’s completely by his doing that you looking so fucking  _wrecked_.

“You’re doing so good for me, sweetheart.” Some insanely innocent and untainted part of you has the dignity to make your face heat up, blood rushing to your cheeks. 

His hand never leaves your ass, kneading the soft globe of flesh as the sting ebbs completely away. 

The contact of skin against skin echoes in symphony with your squeal, “Six!”

Logan licks his lips, almost subconsciously, as he takes in your form laying on his lap, ready to accept any form of punishment that he could decide to dole out. The sight is delicious. He knows it’s something that you  _want_ , he’s willing to give it to you. 

He continues to manipulate the flesh of your ass, thumbs working in circles to soothe the burn of your flesh. 

He doesn’t let you recover completely -

_SevenEightNine_

You’re gasping for air, tears pricking the corner of your eyes at the pain, nails digging into your palms slightly, even with the material of the bedsheets clutched tightly in your hand. Logan’s lips are soft, kissing along your shoulder in a languid fashion, attempting to distract you from the sting of his slaps, soft words of praise sending fresh waves of warmth through you. 

Unable to talk, much less  _think,_ you attempt to focus on the feeling of his hands exploring your body, leaving no inch of skin unexplored, tainting you with his scent. 

His mouth works slowly over your shoulder, not daring stop his actions as his hand leaves your body for a moment, coming back down with a harsh smack. 

“Ten!” The number is whimpered out, barely audible as you bury your face in the sheets, taking a deep inhale of his scent that covered the material. He works your body with the utmost care, cradling you in his arms, getting you into a position where you were situated in his lap, wincing at the pressure on your ass, soreness evident from his actions. 

His lips press to the crown of your head, his hand resting against your back. 

“You did so good for me, sweetheart. So good.” 


	32. Gentle [Logan Howlett]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> giving logan a massage

Your touch is gentle - not voluntarily, of course, but rather tainted with  _wonder_ because  _holy shit he’s half naked._ He’s exquisite in every sense of the word, gentle planes of controlled muscle moving slowly with your touch, slow breaths echoing louder than they should have in the silence of the still room. 

A low groan leaves his lips as your thumb presses into his neck, releasing a tight muscle. 

The sound catches you completely off guard, your bottom lip held hostage between your teeth. And it  _seems_ like he doesn’t notice how tense you are, and you don’t completely blame him - you’d never been one to be outgoing. Hell, even offering him a massage had come more of a surprise to you than to him. And then,  _everything_ went to shit when he actually  _accepted._

Logan, being  _Logan,_ hadn’t been hesitant in stripping down to nothing, a simple towel covering the bottom half of his body as he lay down. But you didn’t know his character, not at the time, the guilt heavy -  _what if you’d pushed him too far?_

You had been about to tell him to leave his boxers on, a quick reassurance meant more for yourself than for him to promise you wouldn’t see more than he wanted to show.  _About to._

The words had died on your lips went he’d walked out, wrapped in  _nothing_ but a towel, smug smirk decorating his lips. He didn’t need much instruction, laying on his stomach with the towel covering his bottom half.  ~~Unfortunately.~~

You had given yourself a moment to gather yourself before you’d begun your magic on him, working the scented oil over his back, smoothing it over the scarred skin. 

“Tell me when you want me to stop.” 

There’s a  _definite_  insinuation in the words. He  _definitely_ notices. 

“You ain’t gonna tire me out, sweetheart.” You don’t need to see his face to know he’s smirking. 

Your scoff, playfulness clear in it as your hands began to knead the muscles of his lower back. A soft sigh leaves his lips and yet, it’s clear that he’s tense despite his easy-going demeanor. 

When your palm applies the slightest of pressures on a particularly taut muscle, a low hiss leaves his lips, strained voice whispering, “Fuck,” 

For once, there’s nothing sexual in the way he says it but and yet - 

It sends a flood of warmth through you, sparking a  _fire_ in your veins that altogether  _too welcome._

Your hands continue to move over his back, shifting upwards to knead the muscle of his shoulders. Maybe he’s making a little more sound than usual, low groans filling the silent air-  _completely normal, right?_

Besides the fact that you’re  _completely drenched_ , you could’ve passed for someone who hadn’t  _at all_ been affected by him. And even then…it would’ve required effort. 

“I’m gonna need you to turn around.” The statement hangs in the air for a moment before he shifts, darkened eyes meeting your own, “I’ll…I’m…” You clear your throat awkwardly, “Turn around - I gotta work on your stomach and chest.” 

He grins, lips tugging upwards in that crooked, smug fashion of  _his._

_“I’m all yours.”  
_

You don’t manage much more than a weak laugh, trying to pass your nervousness off as  _nothing_  as your pour more of the oil onto your palm, heating it up by rubbing your hands together before pressing your hands to his chest. 

Despite it being obvious that his eyes were scanning you, like a cat watching a cornered mouse -

You don’t say anything, trying to focus on anything that wasn’t his gaze. 

It doesn’t work, “It might help if you close your eyes.” Left hanging as a simple offer that he doesn’t accept, his eyes don’t leave your frame. 

The feeling of your hands is something that Logan can’t seem to force his thoughts away from, craving the gentle touch more than he might’ve cared to admit - 

He can’t seem to get the curiosity of how your hand would feel wrapped around his cock out of his head. He really doesn’t care enough to bite back the groan at the following image that his mind conjures up - of your tongue swirling around his tip. 

Despite wanting to clear his head, it’s not as if he’s really  _trying_ to get those images out of his head. Not when he’s  _extremely_ aware of your arousal, the sweet scent intruding upon his sense in the most welcome manner. 

When your fingers dance  _just below_ his navel, it takes  _everything_ he has to hold himself back. 

But  _everything_ isn’t enough. 

He’s kissing you before he knows it, his hand pressing yours flush against his body. 

It’s dizzying, the effect it has on you, your free hand immediately coming up to cup his jaw, reciprocating the frenzied kiss. 

Logan has little reason to cement the fact that you  _might’ve_ enjoyed giving him the massage more than he’d enjoyed receiving it but his senses. 

And when the  _softest_ moan leaves your lips - 

It’s all the confirmation he needs. 


	33. Primal Need [Victor Creed]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> victor creed doesn’t take kindly to challenge. he revolts in every way that you’d expect.

Victor Creed is a beast. Well, a beast of a man but a beast nonetheless.

But no matter what he is, and what he revels in being, he knows, with a crippling certainty what he  _wants_.

Control is something that he craves with every fiber of his being.

So when you waltz into his life, challenging his every move, he has to do everything he can to hold himself back - everything isn’t  _much_.

Nevertheless, man is man and beast is beast. A combination of the two is a catastrophe waiting to occur.

He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like challenge, not when it undermines his authority that he’s given himself. So he retaliates. In every way that you would expect.

~ ~ ~

The lights flashed brightly, casting a glow of an angel around you, which was about as far from the truth as you could get.

A soft smirk took place on your lips, your eyes lighting up as the music pumped steadily through the speakers of the club.

The soft fog of both cigarette and artificial smoke filled the air, trapping you in grey robes of alluring promise as you entered the club, the silken material of a promiscuous red dress clinging to the sloping curves of your body.

It was then that the beast had noticed you, his eyes scanning across your frame over the condensation forming on the cold glass of his whiskey. His gaze was predatory as his dark eyes darkened further, raking over every inch of your body possessively, despite your lack of acquaintance with him.

When Victor walked into the club that night, he hadn’t expected to be hit with something like this. He had never wanted anything more, not in that moment.

His eyes narrowed, lips parted slightly as he watched your every movement from the sway of your hips to the swell of your breasts.

Victor Creed wanted you.

The beast craved you.

Your heels clicked softly against the glassy, polished, porcelain floor, the sound muffled by the thundering music. But he heard them, of course, he did.

The smirk you wore on your lips proudly melted into a smile as you were greeted by your friends. With a vulgar greeting and a hug, they’d whisked you off to a secluded corner of the club, demanding to know if anything had happened since the fours hours ago when you’d seen them to make plans.

Rolling your eyes, you’d shaken them off, telling them there was more fun to have rather than telling them the bland events of the day.

With that, you had walked off to the bar, winking seductively at a man whose attention you had attracted upon your entry into the adobe. He gulped.

Laughing lightly at the man’s reaction, you walked towards the bar, taking a seat and crossing your legs, causing your dress to ride up dangerously. Victor’s nostrils flared, a soft growl escaping his mouth.

You didn’t notice, much too occupied flirting shamelessly with the bartender.

Setting forth a rum and coke, the man shot you a smile, his roughly tousled hair falling across his face. You bit your lip, your finger swirling around the top of the glass as you kept his gaze.

“What time do you get off?” You asked, your voice lilting melodically.

“About an hour, still gonna stick around?” He teased, you smile, batting your eyelashes at him.

“‘Course,” You smirked, taking a sip of your drink. You licked your lips, your tongue slowly tracing the shape of their fullness in a vulgar,  _obvious_ show of what remained on your agenda for the night.

He shifted uncomfortably, eyeing your breasts. You only smirked.

Moments later, a soft yet demanding tap on your shoulder caused you to turn around to meet the flinty grey eyes of Victor Creed. You visibly stiffened at his towering figure above your sitting frame. The smirk on his face was forced, his jaw clenching as he caught the scent of your perfume.

“A dance?” He asked, bluntly. You mirrored his smirk, your grip loosening on the glass you held in your hand.

You shot the bartender a wink before standing up, your body inches away from the strange man’s, “A name?” You teased, brushing your hand over his chest as you walked around him and towards the dance floor. He bristled at your touch, forcing himself to hold him back from simply  _taking_ you on the counter of the bar.

This was the one thing that set Victor off. He couldn’t smell the fear that he’d come to appreciate from the many women he went through.

He couldn’t smell fear. You weren’t  _scared_ of Victor Creed. You were curious. And perhaps, you should’ve have been but his straightforwardness was something that had peaked your interest.

He walked after you, casting one last warning glance at the bartender, baring his teeth. The bartender stiffened and Creed smirked at the familiar scent of fear as he walked after you. His steps were sure, confident, oozing an air of command.

Despite your attempts at a playful chase, he’d found you fairly easily, the smirk on his face morphing into something more  _feral_.

“Victor.” He whispered, his voice gravelly, yet so loud against the blaring music, “Gotcha.”

You bit your lip, not bothering to hide your obvious attraction to the man, “(Y/N), I was hoping you would.” You smirked. His pupils dilated at your words.

It was then that Victor Creed snapped.

His arms wrapped around your waist without warning, eliciting a soft gasp from your lips as you barreled into his chest.

“Thought we were gonna dance, kitten?” He questioned teasingly, his hands dropping to your hips, gripping them tightly in his large hands. You only grinned as his show of dominance, not easily swayed yet still aroused.

His eyes darkened further as his senses caught a smell of the sweet, teasing scent. You took a step impossibly closer to him, your chest pressing against his as you swayed your hips to the music against him.

An imperceptible growl left his lips. Your smirk widened as you felt his growing erection against your leg.

That was the first time that night that Victor pressed a hot, demanding kiss to your lips. Your hands flew to his collar, gripping it tightly as his hands tightened to a nearly bruising grip on your hips. You gasped against his mouth, hands closing into tight fists around the material of his shirt.

He pulled away, his lips slightly red from the light stain of lipstick. And you would’ve laughed, if… _if_ he hadn’t kissed you again, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth. You reciprocated immediately, chest heaving against his.

You pulled away seconds later, your eyes wide, “Let’s get out of here.” The statement had barely left your lips before you were walking quickly, trying to keep pace with him as you walked out of the club, his arm wrapped around your waist, holding you to him as if he expected you to run.

Your legs worked furiously to keep up with the mysterious man who you knew nothing about besides his name. And the fact he was a damn good kisser.

Minutes later, with the tension in the air thick as a stick of butter, you had arrived at a shabby, rundown motel, not that you cared when you followed him and within seconds of entering his room he had you up against a wall, his warmth caging you in as he kissed you again.

You hands tangled in his hair, nails gently scratching across his scalp as he sucked your tongue into his mouth, holding it captive between his teeth. You moaned softly, tugging at his hair.

Without another moment of hesitation, he had picked you up, your legs wrapping immediately around his waist. You pulled away, despite reluctantly, your breathing coming in gasps from the intensity of the kiss.

“Winded already, kitten?” He grinned, flashing his canines. Your eyes widened as he smirked, walking over to the unmade sheets of the bed and sitting down with you in his lap, your dress around your waist as you straddled his lap.

You kissed him ferociously in response, your hands falling from his hair to drag down his torso. He leant up abruptly, causing a sharp cry of surprise leave your lips as you fell back against the pillows.

Victor grinned, arms holding his weight above you, his breath fanning across your face. With a smirk, you threw a leg over his hip, pulling him down on top of you against the little resistance he offered.

His jaw clenched. Still no fear. Only arousal.

As your hands wandered further down his built torso, your nails dragging along the muscle, his bent down again, his lips attacking the sensitive skin of your neck. Not kissing, but  _biting._  Leaving reminders of what was to happen in red, angry bruises.

You let out a soft moan, craning your neck as his mouth reached the silken material of your dress that just barely covered your shoulders.

He sucked gently on the newly revealed skin, teeth nipping at your collarbone, leaving a sting behind. You gasped, your eyes wide as his hands came to the bottom of the dress. You lifted your arms up to give him easier access to take the restrictive clothing off. He made eye contact with you once before the dress was over the top of your head.

But it didn’t come off, only tightening around your wrist.

A small squeak of surprise left your mouth at the sudden restraint as you tried to tug out of it, failing. Victor’s smirk widened, his eyes looking like black pools of oblivion.

“Wha-” The protest was cut off the moment his kissed you once again, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth. One of his arms pressed against your stomach, holding you pressed to the mattress, his skin  _hot,_ liquefying your muscles.

His lips moved feverishly against yours, stealing your breath, tongue exploring your mouth freely. The moment you tried to fight his tongue with yours, he bit down lightly on your bottom lip, earning a soft mewl, much to his pleasure.

Slowly, his lips wandered back to your neck, sucking and biting at the skin. One of his hands stayed pillared next to your head, holding the top half of his body off of you. The arm that had been holding you down traced your figure, making you squirm under him from the teasing touches. He kissed his way lower, nuzzling the underside of your breasts.

“Victor…” You sighed, your eyes closing in bliss. That was all it took for him to tear off the simple bra you’d been wearing, rough hands cupping your breasts as his thumbs rubbed quick, teasing circles around your nipples, earning a small whimper from you. He kneaded the soft skin ruthlessly in his hand, causing you to tug against the dress wrapped around your wrists in a desperate attempt to touch him.

Your back arched off the bed as his mouth closed over your left nipple, biting down gently on the sensitive bud.

A sharp, strangled moan left your lips, his only response being to bite down harder until he had you whimpering, your hips squirming under his in an attempt to ease your rising need for contact. You could feel the rigid outline of his cock even through his thick jeans, pressing against your inner thigh so damn close to where you craved him.

Taking what little advantage of the situation you had, you ground your hips upwards into his.

Without warning, one of his hands has slipped between your legs, cupping you through the thin material of your panties.

You stilled in surprise, “Not a sound, kitten. Not a sound.” He growled in warning before his fingers began moving ever so slowly against the material, which now moved smoothly against you due to the wetness seeping out and dripping onto the mattress.

He didn’t pick up the pace, continuing his soft, barely there touches as he rubbed you through your panties, his mouth still wreaking havoc on your breasts, which at this point were covered in furious marks that stung with every movement you made.

His fingers dug slightly into your warmth, your hips bucking into his hand as a soft moan escaped your mouth. He stilled abruptly, a deliberate grin on his face as he met your eyes.

“What did I say?” He demanded. You gulped.

“Not a sound,” You squeaked out, your voice cracking.

“Good,” He smirked, “Not anymore. I want to hear every damn sound that comes out that pretty mouth of yours. Understood?”

You nodded in reply, eyes wide. He growled, “ _Understood?_ ”

“Understood.” You whispered, your voice hoarse. His hands slipped over the top of your soaked panties, nails just barely scratching against the soft skin of your hips, forcing a whimper from your throat, now touching you directly as you let out a moan.

And he watched, fingers curling slightly into you but never,  _never_ penetrating. Only teasing as you struggled madly against the restraint, squirming under him, your eyes shut tightly and your breathing labored.

“V-Victor… _please_ ….” And then his fingers are inside you, stretching, demanding. A loud scream of pleasure left your mouth, he chuckled, fingers pumping ruthlessly into your heat.

Your eyes snap open as his fingers curl upwards, meeting his darkened grey eyes ringed with an  _animalistic_ yellow ring.

Chants of  _Victor god yes_ fill the room.

And he grins, seeing you at his mercy, squirming under him,  _struggling_ to break free of his hold, craving more.

This is how he likes it.

This is how he  _wants_ it.

Victor Creed wants power. He wants control.

And over you, he has  _exactly_ that.

But he still doesn’t smell it. He doesn’t smell the sickly sour scent of fear that he has come to crave after all these years.

Helpless noises leave your lips, his teeth dragging over your neck and shoulders, leaving pin-pricks of electricity behind.

This isn’t lust.

Not anymore.

This is need. A deep, cavernous  _need,_ waiting to be fulfilled.

His fingers don’t falter. Not when you finally break free of the binds, slipping free of the silky material. Not when your hips buck erratically into his thick fingers. Not when you grip his forearm tightly, it being your first choice of an anchor to this world. Not when you cry out his name.

He doesn’t  _stop._

“Come on, kitten. Come for me, just like that. Good girl.” You clench around his ruthless fingers.

And then it’s over.

You’re screaming, body shaking, covered in sweat against the mattress, orgasm covering his fingers as your body stills on the bed.

He smiles. His eyes predatory and threatening. You choke on air. He kisses you roughly, not giving you a chance to catch your breath. You kiss back without hesitation.

Victor’s shirt comes off sometime during the frenzied kissing, his pants following moments later.

You didn’t tell him to stop.

Not when he hovered over you, stark naked, eyes boring into your own.

You kissed him harshly again, his hips fitting snugly between your legs, his tip just brushing over your folds. You let out a soft moan against his mouth.

And then his hips are surge forward, catching you off guard as he pushes in easily.

Sure, it hurts a little. He’s big. But it can’t change how  _good_ it feels.

He doesn’t start slowly, immediately setting a ruthless pace as his hips slam into the apex of your thighs, your moans choked and loud, nails dragging down his back, leaving red marks that knitted together in seconds.

Victor Creed doesn’t falter. Not for a second. His pace picks up immensely, the sound of slick skin slapping together loud and clear.

He presses messy, hot, commanding kisses over your neck and shoulders.

You can’t hold back the pleads escaping your mouth, “V-Victor…plee-ase…I n-need…”

His thrusts get more aggressive, hips brushing against your clit rhytimically as he shifts, making himself comfortable and in the process catching something soft and  _burning_ within you.

“Tell me what you need, kitten.” He grows, his voice just  _barely_ steady as he continued to thrust.

“I…need…I…I’m…gonna… _Victor_!” You cried out, your face contorted in pleasure, your eyes shut tightly as your nails dug into his back, a whimper leaving your lips as you came. Your vision went white, head thrown back into the pillows as you felt him pulse inside you before he heaved a soft, barely audible moan. You felt him fill you, hips jerking into his at the sensation as he softened inside you.

He pulled out of you, his breaths coming in labored gasps as he collapsed on the bed next to you. You stared at the ceiling, your chest heaving, a sheen of sweat covering your body.

Taking a moment to catch your breath, you made an attempt to get off the bed, being stopped as you felt Victor’s arm close around your waist, pulling you back against his chest.

“I ain’t done with you yet, kitten.”


	34. Victor Creed sex headcanons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> how sex with victor creed would be like.

**\- When:** All. The. Time. Really, it’s just casual sex, so there’s never a specific time. 

**\- Location:** All. The. Places. (basically everywhere but the bed because you two already broke it and every time you decide it’s time to replace it, he’ll distract you.)

-  **Why:** He’s feeling possessive and you’re wearing those shorts that you won’t let him tear off, no matter what he does to scare you. 

-  **Noise level:** So fucking loud. But then there are times that you have to force yourself to stay silent because you are in a public place and his fingers are thrusting in and out of your savagely, your nails digging into his shoulder and face buried in his neck to muffle your whimpers as he smirks widely, watching you come undone. 

-  **Position:** Against a wall.  ~~(is that even a position idk man)~~  The majority of the time, he’ll be too impatient to make it all the way to a bed, instead pushing you against a wall, hitching your leg over his hip and thrusting into you while he presses his lips harshly to yours.

-  **Rough? Gentle? :** Bites. Hickies. Scratches. It’s rough, no question. He loves marking you up as a reminder of what you let him do to you, lost in light drag of his nails down your abdomen, stopping at the edge of your underwear as he met your eyes with a vicious grin on his lips. 

-  **Activities:**

*** SO MANY TORN CLOTHES:**  He’ll get so handsy with you and can’t control himself as his hands feel their way over your body, fighting against the restrictive cloth that’s hindering the pace that he wants to be going at. A low, frustrated growl will leave his lips before you find the cold air hitting your bare skin, the undergarments you’d been wearing seconds before shredded on the ground next to you. 

                 * Victor loves the feeling of your lips around his cock, hands massaging his balls. He loves hearing you gag as he thrusts in suddenly, your hold on his hips doing nothing to hinder his movements. It’s what keeps him coming back night after night for more. 

He also loves the taste of you on his tongue, his lips roving over every inch of visible skin as he holds your legs wide, hips trying to fight against his hold and close your legs against the sparks of pleasure shooting up your core. 

Is he an ass or boob guy?

                 *  **eXhIbItIoNisM** : Victor loves taking chances. He can’t get enough of the exhilaration that he feels as he fucks you in a dark booth in the corner of his favorite bar.  ~~(i need a long cold shower)~~

                 * Multiple orgasm: He loves to make you scream his name many times over because nothing gets him harder than you whimpering his name repeatedly, voice strained from exhaustion because you’re begging him to stop since you feel as though you can’t come anymore.    

                 * Daddy kink. 

-  **Aftercare:** Truth be told, Victor is not one for any shows of affection afterwards. Yeah, maybe you’ll kiss him. Yeah, he’ll reciprocate. But this will only lead into round two.  ~~(not that that’s a bad thing)~~

 

**Is he an ass or boob guy?**

Victor’s definitely a boob guy.

His fascination with the soft globes of flesh is completely understandable. He loves having his mouth on them, soft growls leaving his lips. Nipping, biting, sucking, leaving glaring red marks. You don’t really mind them because he’ll have you writhing under him in seconds, begging to be touched.

_I am touching you. Ain’t I, kitten?_

Your only response would be to whimper and of course, that’d only be more encouragement for him to continue teasing, tongue circling around your hardened nipple. 

His hands will also be constantly on your chest while he’s taking his sweet time tasting you. He’ll have his head between your legs, lips forming a tight suction around your clit, savoring your taste. You’ll be crying out his name as if it’s the one thing you’ve remembered how to say, back arching off whatever surface he has you on, thighs trying to close around his head and his hand will sneak up your body, beginning to knead one of your breasts roughly, resulting in the quickest orgasm that you’ve ever had, thighs quivering around his head. 

_You have no fucking idea how good you taste, do ya?_

~~You definitely have an idea after he kisses you roughly, tongue already forcing its way past your lips to tangle with yours.~~


	35. Molten Metal [Piotr Rasputin]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> waking up next to someone isn’t a gives, especially when you’re a mutant. you’re glad you’ve got piotr. (piotr rasputin x reader)

Waking up next to someone wasn’t a given for many mutants such as yourself. You could lose the one you loved within mere seconds.

You were one of the lucky ones and you knew that. And that’s one of the main reasons that you loved Piotr so much.

You woke up with Piotr’s arm wrapped tightly around you, breath tickling the soft hairs at the back of your neck. Yawning softly, you turned around, facing him as you pressed a small kiss to his nose. He stirred, arm tightening around you, wordlessly tugging you closer.

“Go to sleep.” He mumbled softly. You smiled, never having gotten used to the way that his voice sounded when he was still half-asleep.

“Well, good morning to you too.” You teased, trying to pry his arm off from around you.

“No.” He mumbled sleepily, pulling you flush against his bare chest.

“Piotr, come on.” You laughed, pressing playful kisses over his face in an attempt to make his grip loosen around you in annoyance. He cracked a small smile, leaning up to press a soft kiss to your lips. You reciprocated instantly, hand coming up to cup his jaw. The kiss was slow, your lips moving gently together, in no hurry to share the love you both felt for each other.

Without warning, he rolled over, frame hovering over yours with a smile on his face. You rolled your eyes, playfully pushing him away as you tried to break free of the trap between his knees that he’d caught you in.

“One more kiss and I’ll let you go.”

“One.” You warned, “Just one.”

“Maybe more?” He asked, grinning childishly. You laughed.

“One.” You muttered, pulling him down and pressing your lips to his. He smiled against your lips, pressing his harder against yours, hand sliding slowly up your side.

He didn’t break the kiss, the passion coursing through his veins only growing with each passing second, lips moving in a languid fashion over yours. Your hands tangled in his hair, leg hooking over his hip to pull him down slightly.

You broke the kiss moments later, your face hot. He smirked before leaning down to kiss you again.

You turned your head to the side just as his lips pressed against your jaw.

“I said ‘one.’” You laughed.

“But I never said when ‘one’ would end.” He smirked, planting soft kisses along your jaw and neck.

“Did I ever tell you how much I hate you?”

“No, because you don’t.” He grinned, tongue laving against the sensitive skin of your neck. You laughed, taking a sharp breath as you felt the drag of his teeth.

“Piotr…” You gasped out, all air escaping your lungs as his teeth grazed over your pulse point. You felt him smirk against your skin before he pulled away.

“A few more kisses then?” He grinned, meeting your eyes.

You laughed, “You’re an idiot,” were the only words that left your mouth before your lips met his in a bruising kiss. Your tongue slipped into his mouth moments later, swirling passionately with his. With each passing second, the kiss grew more heated, both your chests heaving against the other. You kept your lips pressed to his despite your growing need for oxygen.

His hands slipped under your shirt, skimming over your chest to draw a barely audible moan from you as you broke the kiss momentarily to catch your breath. Your bra was unclipped within seconds by his eager hands, fingers suddenly moving it to the side and expertly rolling your nipples with his fingers.

You kissed him feverishly, hands tangled in his hair, tugging at the abundant strands.

Your shirt was the first piece of clothing to land haphazardly on the floor next to the bed, bra following seconds later. Piotr peppered kisses over your shoulders as your head rested against the fluffy pillows, mouth open as you tried to catch your breath from the previous kiss. His hand slid along the length of your body, arriving on the supple skin of your ass and squeezing gently.

A faint moan left your lips as Piotr’s teeth grazed over your collarbone, lips pressing random kisses all over your upper body.  

A soft moan left your lips as his hot mouth closed around your right nipple while his left hand kneaded the supple skin of your left  breast.

Your back arched off the bed, chest pushing against his mouth as a loud moan left your lips. His tongue circled slowly around the bud, eliciting soft gasps from you. Before you could even realize that your pants had been taken off, you felt his calloused hands tracing over the soft skin of your legs and higher still.

“Piotr…” You choked out as his mouth traveled lower. He pressed soft teasing kisses to your ribs, his nose nuzzling the underside of your breasts.

Piotr dragged his lips lower, just barely brushing over your stomach as his lust-filled eyes met yours. A shiver ran up your spine as you gulped, your cheeks flushed.

A small smirk played on his lips as his mouth arrived upon the soft material outlining the top of your panties. He gently kissed your hip bone, nipping lightly at it before his teeth closed around the thin material of your panties.

Your breath hitched as you held his gaze. His smirk widened as he slowly dragged your panties down with his teeth. They joined the growing pile of clothing seconds later, Piotr’s smirk still prominent.

You gulped as Piotr kissed up your leg,  _so goddamn slowly._  You choked on your breath, chest tight and mouth open in anticipation.

His breath was the first thing you felt, just tickling your most intimate area.

“Piotr…. _please._ ” You gasped, as he blew on your dripping core, sending shockwaves of teasing pleasure up your spine.

At the first swipe of his tongue, it took everything you had in you not to scream at just how  _good_ it felt. A loud, unfiltered moan escaped your lips much to his pride. You felt his grin against you before you felt his fingers.

Your back arched off the bed, fists tangled tightly in the sheets. His fingers found their way between your legs, circling your entrance, serving only to frustrate you even more. You whimpered softly as his tongue found your clit, applying a gentle, pleasuring pressure.

“ _Piotr.._ ” You whispered eyes shut tightly as his fingers dipped slightly inward but never penetrated.

At this point, your only concern was trying to breathe properly from all that Piotr was doing to you.

Loud, audible moans filled the room as his fingers thrust suddenly inward, immediately pumping in and out of you at a slow pace. His fingers curled, catching something  _electric_  inside of you.  His tongue laved relentlessly over the sensitive bundle of nerves as his fingers entered you over and over again.

A choked gasp of his name left your lips as you felt yourself tumble over the edge, body quivering on the mattress. Piotr continued through your orgasm, tongue catching all you had to offer.

You opened your eyes, your face hot as you met his darkened eyes.

Piotr slowly kissed back up your body, hovering over you once more with a smug smile on his face.

“How are you feeling?” He questioned casually, making you want to wipe the smile of his damned perfect face.

“You’re a fucking disgrace.” You scoffed, your face hot.

“I know.” He smirked, before leaning down to kiss you again. You reciprocated instantly, lips moving slowly with his as your hands skimmed down his toned chest, arriving at the top of his pajama shorts. You tugged them down harshly.

“Enough teasing. I need you. Now.” You demanded, scowling playfully against his lips.

“I like this side of you.” He grinned, breaking the kiss momentarily to lean up and fling his shorts over the side of the bed. You leg hooked over his hip, pulling his hips down towards you.

You met his lips in a bruising kiss, gasping against them as you felt the tip of his erection teasing over your folds.

Piotr bit your bottom lip gently as he eased himself into your awaiting heat until he bottomed out. Your breath hitched as you moaned against his lips, breaking the kiss unwillingly. He began rocking slowly into you, one of his hands pulling your leg higher over his hip and keeping it secured there.

Ever so slowly, his pace began to increase, hips slamming repeatedly into the crux of your thighs. You choked on the little air you were able to take in, soft moans filling the air.

“Piotr, oh my god.” You gasped as his pace quickened, nothing but the sound of wet skin slamming into wet skin filling the room.

As much as you tried to keep your hips in pace with his, you failed, instead surrendering to the jolts of pure pleasure that shot through your body like bullets through paper. You felt the heat from your lower abdomen spread all over your body, dragging you into a hazy sense of numbness. You could feel Piotr’s thrusts falter as he felt your muscles clench around him, nails still digging into the hardened muscle of his back.

The last thing you feel before you come crashing down is the sweet pressure of his thumb against your clit before a choked gasp of his name leaves your lips.

With a few more erratic, uncontrolled thrusts you felt him twitch inside you. He heaved a soft moan of your name as he came, still thrusting to ride out both your orgasms.

Your body stilled on the bed as he pulled out, your eyes dazed and your mind lost in euphoria. Piotr’s breaths came in quick, unsteady gasps, his arms straining to hold his body off of yours.

Eventually, you found yourself back in Piotr’s arms. He pressed a soft, reassuring kiss to the top of your head as you rested it against his chest, arm around his torso.

“I’m going back to sleep.” You mumbled, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. He laughed, kissing your nose.

“Now you want to?”

“Hey, just doing what you told me to.” You scoffed, smacking his chest playfully.

“Does that mean you’re going to start listening to me?”

“That’s cute but no.”

“I love you.” He smiled, squeezing your body gently to pull you impossibly closer to his exhausted frame.

“I know, I’m pretty great.” You said, kissing him softly with a smile.

He returned the show of affection, holding you close, “I love you too.”


	36. Piotr Rasputin sex headcanons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> how sex with piotr rasputin would be like. + extra tidbits (riding him, riding his thigh, face-sitting, how good is he at oral?)

**When:** The majority of the time, it’ll happen after missions. Both of you are extremely stressed from the pressure and need to find an outlet to ease that stress.

 -  **Location:** Bedroom. Piotr is a respectable man he’s not really much for PDA except maybe forehead kisses and that’s also applicable to other activities. He’d much rather take his time with you behind closed doors rather than initiate a quickie somewhere that you two run into the risk of getting caught. 

-  **Why:** He feels lucky that you’ve been by his side through all the shit that he’s been through. 

-  **Noise level:** It can get very loud (mainly from your side) but mostly it’s quiet because he doesn’t want to be interrupted by the others. 

-  **Position:** Missionary. He loves kissing you softly, despite his harsh thrusts into you, your nails dragging down his back.

Rarely, he lets you be on top because you can’t get enough of the soft noises escaping your mouth. When you’re on top, the noises you make are that much clearer. 

-  **Rough? Gentle? :** It’s no question that Piotr loves you so when someone tries to flirt with you, you can count on being unable to walk for the next few days because everything is sore. Needless to say that he’s stuck carrying you around, not that he minds because he can’t stop the upward tug of his lips at the pout on your lips. 

-  **Activities:**

*****  Oral: Piotr is an oral fixation. That is all I’m going to say.               

                    *  **Sensory deprivation:** He loves to blindfold you. There’s just something about having you at his mercy, quivering for a simple glide of his fingertips across your torso that makes his pupils expand and his erection twitch in his jeans. 

                    * Hair pulling                 

                    * He’s all for holding hands during sex.

-  **Aftercare:** Cuddles with Piotr are the best cuddles considering he’s so much bigger than you and his body basically engulfs you as he pulls you close to him, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of you head while whispering how much he loves you in Russian. 

* * *

 

**Riding him**

It’s known fact that Piotr loves being on top because what better way to view your pleasured filled expression? But occasionally, he’ll let you take control, his lips still connected to yours, eyes still filled with adoration at everything you do. 

He doesn’t protest when you climb over his body, straddling his hips, hands pillared on his chest as you sink down onto his length, breath hitching at the feeling of being filled by his girth. Your hips will start off slow, both to tease him and yourself, grinding so fucking slowly until you feel his hands on your hips, ready to control your pace. You’ll look down at him to find his bottom lip held hostage between his teeth, biting back a groan as you pitch your hips forward, catching him off guard at the sudden movement. And without warning, your pace will pick up because at the moment you want nothing but to chase after your release, soft, pleasured sounds filling the room. 

 

**Riding his thigh**

At first, Piotr didn’t really understand the concept of ‘thigh-riding’ but once you explained it to him, with flushed cheeks, he couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at his lips, his eyes glinting mischievously. Wanting to wipe that cocky smirk of his face but lacking any words of your own, you’d kissed him fiercely, your hands tangling in his hair and his hands falling to your hips.

His tongue laved across your bottom lip, tangling with your tongue as it slipped inward, drawing a soft moan from the depths of your throat. Within moments, you’d find yourself seated against on one of this  ~~thicc~~  thighs. You’d break the kiss, a surprised gasp leaving your lips. He’d only offer an encouraging smile, fingers applying a gentle pressure, urging you to move forward. And you’d relent, of course you would, your hips surging forward inch by inch, moving slowly, just  _getting a feel_ for it. And then it’s that split second when the rough material of his jeans is catching at your bundle of nerves, and you  _can’t_ help that choked moan that flies past your lips, your eyes shutting tightly, and consecutive gasps  _spilling endlessly_ from your lips.

_Piotr, oh my god. I c-can’t…fuck…._

 

**Face-sitting**

It’s nearly silent because nothing fills the room but sounds of both your moans echoing in symphony with his, hands wandering, breaths mingling, skin sliding. 

The next thing you know, his calloused fingers are pressing against the skin of your hips, moving you upwards until you’re sitting on his chest. 

_Piotr?_

_I want to try something._

You don’t complain as his hands guide you higher, your breath catching in your throat as you feel his hot breath on your core. You’re gripping the headboard so tightly, your knuckles white in anticipation. He’s pulling you down gently, towards his mouth and you can’t help the soft whimper that leaves your mouth because you want his tongue on you  _so fucking badly_ but the asshole is  _still teasing_ as he presses a soft kiss to your folds, lips just  _barely_ brushing over your core. Then it’s the most gentle swipe of his tongue that causes you to jerk your hips against his face, his grip tightening on you. Then his lips are working over you so quickly,  _so suddenly_ and you can’t help the sounds coming from your throat, gasps and mewls all of his name.  _All pleasure filled._

**How good is he at oral?**

_Amazing._

The feeling of his breath falling on your wet folds, hands gripping your thighs to keep you wide open for him, your legs quivering from the  _lightest_ flick of the tip his tongue upon your clit, causing a loud wanton moan to spill from your lips at the gentlest touch….his arm coming up to press your hips to the mattress, restricting your movements further as he leans forward with that  _fucking sinful_ glint in his eyes as his mouth finally makes contact with you, tongue gliding languidly over every inch of your wetness…

 


	37. Charles Xavier sex headcanons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> how sex with charles xavier would be like.

**\- When:** Mornings. The gentle calmness of his voice still sleepy as you press your lips to his….

-  **Location:** A bookshelf in his office. Hank has walked in multiple times on you two because he’s heard the thud of the dusty volumes falling to the floor and was worried that Charles was being attacked ( ~~by something other than your mouth~~ ). Thank god for Charles’ mutation.

-  **Why:** With a cocky smirk on his face every time that he meets your eyes, it’s hard  ~~(huehuehueimsorryimsugarhigheverythingsfunny)~~  not to think about his lips moving over your body, hand slipping in between your legs to draw soft mewls of his name from your lips, only to be muffled against his. His smirks only widens as you bite your lip, trying to dispel the thoughts before he notices. 

**\- Noise level:** Nearly silent, only the occasional grunt from his lips echoing in symphony with soft moans. The loudest thing in the room will be the slap of slick skin, drowning out all other noises. 

**\- Position:** Missionary. Charles can never get enough of the way that your mouth is open in a silent moan, back arching off the bed….

-  **Rough? Gentle? :** Gentle. Charles likes to take things slow. The simple actions of gentle touches and languid kisses along with prolonged moments of eye contact heighten not only the emotion but intimacy of the deed, thus making it more pleasurable for both of you.  ~~(yo wtf this came out so formal sounding #kumishutup)~~

-  **Activities:**

*** OrAL:** Charles  _cannot_ get enough of the feeling of your lips engulfing his length in your mouth, tongue swirling around his tip and nails digging into his thighs to hold his hips down to keep him still. 

Often, he’ll go down on you, never breaking eye contact as he presses soft kisses down your hips with a smirk tugging at his lips at the soft gasps that he elicits from your mouth as his teeth drag gently over your inner thigh. And the moment that your eyes close the second that his tongue makes contact with you, he’ll stop completely. 

            * Praise kink? Praise kink.

            * Hair-pulling: It’s gigantic thing for him. Nothing gets him harder than the feeling of your hands tangled in the copious dark strands, tugging at them as you moan against his lips. 

-  **Aftercare:** Charles will press his forehead to yours and kiss you gently, whispering just how much you meant to him. He’d like having you close to him, wrapping his arm around your waist and have the other hand holding yours. 


	38. Erik Lehnsherr sex headcanons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> how sex with erik lehnsherr would be like.

**\- When:** Afternoons. He loves to fuck you while you struggle to keep your eyes open to watch the sunsets that you love so much. 

**\- Location:** Everywhere. No joke. The elevator? Done. Hank’s lab? Done. Logan’s classroom? Done. That closet that’s really small but has random junk belonging to various X-Men in it? Done. Outside, under that tree Charles really likes? Done.

-  **Why:** Erik is a cocky bastard, okay? He’ll smack your ass as he’s walking past, earning a glare from you in mock anger even though he knows you love it. And when you’re both alone later that day, you’ll kiss him roughly….

-  **Noise level:** Okay, yikes. That is all. 

-  **Position:** Missionary or Doggy. 

Missionary because he loves eye contact, watching the way that your chest heaves, face hot as you try to steady your breathing from the angle he’s hitting you at. 

When he’s feeling particularly dominant, he’ll take you from behind, only to pull you up moments later, whispering filthy things about how good you are at taking his cock while his hands knead the supple skin of your ass.  ~~(ok but Erik is an ass man fight me)~~

-  **Rough? Gentle? :** There are days when he’ll be on edge as if he’s being chased by the men that once hunted him down when he first managed to escape. It’s these days that he’ll constantly seek you out, craving the comfort that you provide with gentle hands running through his hair as he rests it in your lap. You’ll lean forward, kissing him softly, whispering that he’s safe now. He’ll reciprocate instantly, sitting up so that he can cup your face in his hands, pressing his lips to yours desperately, earning soft moans from you. 

Other times, he’ll tie  ~~(metal bend?)~~  you to the bed, taking pleasure in the way that soft whimpers of his name leave your lips, begging you to touch him where he’d been avoiding to make you squirm. 

-  **Activities:**

*** dAdDy KiNk?: YES** hella daddy kink.

                   * Erik is so adventurous in the bedroom, you find it a terrifyingly arousing. He loves to experiment with his powers, using them to bend the metal frame of the bed around your hands to restrain your movements. 

                   * He prefers the lights off when you two have sex because he thinks that the lack of light heightens the intimacy of your actions since he has to take his time, feeling every inch of your skin under his calloused fingertips, soft sighs echoing. 

                   *  **Dirty talk:**.There’s so goddamn much. He knows how much you love it when he’s passing by you in the hallway and he stops, however momentarily to whisper that he’s got you something new to try out later tonight. It’ll have you on edge the whole day, earning smug smiles from him every time while you glare at him for being shameless. 

                   * Choking. 

-  **Aftercare:** Nicknames. German Accents. Soft kisses. Proclamations of love. Stories of his past. Tight hugs. Forehead kisses. Nose kisses. Laughing kisses. Stupid jokes. Sleeping in and refusing to leave the safety of his arms. 


	39. Matt Murdock sex headcanons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> how sex with matt murdock would be like.

-  **When:** Matt is a sucker for sleepy morning sex. He loves hearing the soft moans spilling from your lips as his dexterous fingers makes contact with your bundle of nerves, forearm pressing against your pelvis, leading to your words coming out incomprehensible and nonsensical. 

-  **Location:** It’s been a long day for you, work having been hectic and you want nothing more than to take a long, hot shower to completely relax you. You’ll have been in the shower for about 15 minutes, letting the warm water wash away the intrusive thoughts of the day. You wouldn’t have noticed that Matt had come in until his muscled arms encircle your waist, pulling you back against him. 

_I seem to have found a stray Matt in the shower, mind telling me how he got here?_

_I don’t know, probably looking for something to eat._

_The kitchen’s on the other side of the house. I’m a little disappointed that you still don’t know that but I saved some of those truffles you really like._

_Maybe that’s not the kind of food I’m craving._

-  **Why:** He’s been really stressed recently with the new opposition he’s been facing every night and he needs something to get his mind off things. 

 **\- Noise level:** The majority of the time, it’ll be silent because you’ll be bent over his office desk, Foggy and Karen seriously discussing a new case in the next room over.

Other days, your voice will be hoarse the next day, sore from screaming his name over and over again the night before. 

 **\- Position:** Matt is nearly always on top, his pants sending soft bursts of air against your neck, whispering words of how good you feel around his cock serving only to send you closer and close the nearly overwhelming euphoria you feel every time that you reach your high. 

-  **Rough? Gentle? :** There are times that he’ll be rough with you, because he knows you can handle it and also because you’ve been  _bad._ You’ll have to struggle the next morning to hide the multiple bruises littered across various areas of your body.

There are also times that he’ll take his time with you, fingers brushing over the expanse of your ribs, pulling soft, barely audible sighs from your lips. He’ll run his hands over every curve of your body, trying to memorize the feeling of your skin sliding slowly against his. 

-  **Activities:**

 *** Sensory deprivation:** He loves tying your wrists to the bed frame, wrapping a makeshift blindfold from his shirt. He’s rendered you basically immobile, kissing over every inch of exposed skin with his soft lips, making you squirm on the mattress. 

              * Daddy kink 

              * Quickies: You’ll be dressed in that blue shirt that he really likes the feeling of, wearing that perfume that he loves the smell of. He’ll be unable to keep his hands off of you, basically dragging you into his office for some ‘case-solving’ of your own. 

              * Exhibitionism: No one’s gonna question a blind man if he spends a little longer than most in a fitting room. 

-  **Aftercare:** Matt is the king of aftercare. He’ll get a warm cloth to clean you off before sliding into bed next to you and pulling you close, his chest to your back while pressing soft kisses on the back of your neck whispering that he never wanted to lose you. 


	40. Ajax sex headcanons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> how sex with Ajax would be like.

-  **When:** The majority of the time it happens in the afternoon because during the day he’s busy in the workshop, however, that doesn’t mean that short romps during the day wouldn’t happen. He’ll very likely drag you off into a corner even if he has no more than ten minutes.

-  **Location:** Well, I kinda hate to say this but the truth is always brutal…usually surrounded by a lot of mutilated bodies with the only thing really blocking you two from view being a thick white curtain with your moans muffled against his lips, his hands roaming all over your body in a desperate attempt to  _feel_.

-  **Why:** It’s simple. Wade is getting increasingly frustrating and it’s stressing him out.

-  **Noise level:** It’s very silent but so  _difficult_ to keep silent. As mentioned before, the location frequented by you two is the lab, therefore you’re obligated to stay silent if you don’t want to get caught in the middle. Angel has caught you two in the act recently and ever since learned to ignore the faint gasps and moans that she often hears.

However, to say that it’s always silent would be a lie. A few months after your acquaintance with him turned to something more, you somehow managed to convince him to move in with you. To put it simply, the neighbors haven’t gotten a full night of sleep since.

-  **Position:** The one where he fucks you in his lap.  ~~(idk the name fam)~~ He just loves the way that your nails dig into his chest slightly, even though he can’t feel it. He loves how he’s the one person that gets to how out of control of your body you are when you’re one the most composed people that he knows.

-  **Rough? Gentle? :** Usually, he’s rough. He knows you love the way that his hands tangle in your hair and tug it as loud cries of his name leave your lips as he thrusts into you savagely. Even if he can’t feel, he can still hear. 

-  **Activities:**

***sEx ToYs:** Ajax loves seeing you squirm underneath him, to see the way that your face is flushed, your hair splayed out on the pillow and your chest heaving as your take short, unsteady breaths. And then the way that your back arches off the bed as he presses the vibrator covered with your previous orgasms against your clit…

          * **Oral:** Okay, Ajax loves going down on you, mainly because of how utterly wrecked you sound as you feel his lips forming a suction and his tongue circling around, straying away from the one place that you craved the warmth. But what he loves most about giving you oral is the way that your hips buck against his face and he has to hold you down with a bruising grip that leaves marks of his fingertips on the soft skin of your hips for you to see the next morning.

It’s routine that he thinks his job is done the moment that you’ve come. This serves as nothing more than give you the drive to take him in your mouth the moment after he’s pulled out to get him to reach his release, even as he protests that it’s simply a waste of time because he can’t feel the overwhelming pleasure that he should be feeling.

        *Handcuffs or some sort of restraint: Ajax likes to maintain control. When your hands are restrained to the bed frame, he has absolute control over the situation.

- **Aftercare:** Often, he simply holds you close, fingers brushing over the marks he left on your beautiful body while he whispers how much he wishes he could  _feel_ you. Pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, he tightens his arm around you, both of you drifting gently off to sleep, the horrors of the workshop vanishing into memories of shared pleasure. 


	41. Wade Wilson sex headcanons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> how sex with wade wilson would be like.

**\- When:** All the time. He physically can’t keep his hands off of you

**\- Location:** Everywhere. Just watching you walk around in sweatpants and a loose t-shirt is enough to get him going. And when you’re wearing shorts, it’s worst. 

-  **Why:** You two get into a lot of arguments over stupid things but when his lips crash angrily into yours, tongue forcing its way into your mouth and his hands groping you, you don’t exactly have the self-control to stop yourself.

-  **Noise level:** So goddamn loud, you’re still unsure why the neighbors haven’t complained.  ~~(they probably have but wade has probably eaten the warning slip slid under your door before you can get a hold of it.)~~

-  **Position:** Cowgirl, he loves to watch your pleasured expressions, your skin flushed. 

-  **Rough? Gentle? :** The very first time that you had convinced him to take off the mask, he’d been extremely embarrassed, trying to hide behind his hands until  _I’m still gonna draw dicks on your face if you fall asleep on me_ had left your lips. He burst out in a bright smile, kissing you fiercely and stealing your breath away. Neither of you could stop the dazed smiles tugging at your lips with his gentle touches. 

Weasel was attempting to flirt with you, that is all. 

-  **Activities:**

*** Oral:** Wade isn’t called the Merc with a Mouth for nothing. 

               * Bondage: It took him a while to convince you to do it but once you were tied to the bedframe, at his mercy and quivering in anticipation at his next move, you were glad that you’d agreed.

               * Daddy kink

               * So many hickies

               * Edging

-  **Aftercare:** It’s simple. He’ll just hold you close, brushing the hair off your face and asking if you’re hungry.

_You hungry?_

_Yeah._

_What do you want?_

_Food._

_Eat me._

_I’m not a cannibal._


	42. Lance Tucker sex headcanons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> how sex with lance tucker would be like.

-  **When:** Your sexual escapades usually occur around night-time after he’s come home sweaty and tired from his day. You’ll offer him a massage, knowing that his constant complaining won’t stop until the soreness fades from his muscles. Needless to say, your soft touches and smooth hands working over his toned body leads to other things that…in return, leave you sore.

-  **Location:** EVERYWHERE. Sometimes, he’ll take you to the gym with him, to “help” him on his form despite you knowing only the bare minimum about gymnastics. Both of you end up getting a completely different workout than you’d come for, either way ending up sweaty and sore in the locker rooms.

-  **Why:** He’d never realized how good you looked wearing nothing but one of his shirts, the material barely crossing your thighs as you walk down to breakfast, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes after a long night with him. 

You’re his breakfast that morning.

**Noise level:** Loud. Do I really need to go into further detail?

**\- Position:** Doggy Style, no question. He loves to turn that perfect ass of yours cherry red, your whimpers punctuating every contact of his hand kneading the soft flesh. He also loves pulling you back by your hair, hand sneaking down to rub tight circles around your clit as he whispers soft praises of how good you take his cock. He knows  _exactly_ what to do to make you come,  _screaming_ his name as if it’s the one thing you know.

-  **Rough? Gentle? :** Lance gets jealous  _very_ easily. You could be talking casually another man. Hell, even simple greetings are enough to irk him. He’s not possessive, no. It’s just the fact that you don’t see the way that the other man is eyeing you up like prey. And it gets him so fucking pissed.  

There are mornings where he’ll hit the snooze button on his alarm just to spend a little more time with you, brushing the hair out of your face, greedy eyes taking in the marks he’s left on your body the night before. He’ll press his lips to them, planting butterfly kisses along every single one that he’s left, claiming you as his own. It doesn’t take long for you to wake up when his lips press to the hickey on your inner thigh. 

-  **Activities:**

*** QUICKIES:** In the gym. Against the lockers. Your legs wrapped around his waist. His hand over your mouth to muffle your sounds because clearly, you’re struggling to stay silent. You nails digging into his shoulders, eyes shut tightly. 

              * Sex Toys: You’d bought your vibrators a long time ago, never having had enough time to yourself to actually put them to good use…that is until Lance gets his hands on them. You lose count of how many orgasms he milks from you, stroking his cock throughout the whole ordeal, seeing you see his hands on his cock but never allowing you to  _touch._

              * Orgasm Denial

              *  **Bondage** : Lance is huge on making sure you trust him in the bedroom. It takes a little convincing for you to agree to let him tie you down, completely spread out on the bed for him. After a long night of him denying your orgasm until you’re in tears and loads of cussing at him for being such a damned tease, you mentally make up your mind. He’s definitely the one getting tied down next time. 

              * Exhibitionism: He’s definitely the type to finger you under a restaurant table. Or fuck you against a window.

-  **Aftercare:** It’s simple. He’ll pull your exhausted frame close, pressing a kiss to your temple, whispering how good you were. You’d ask him to tell you a story from the Olympics, falling asleep to the sound of his sonorous voice. 


	43. The Wolf Within [Alpha!Logan Howlett]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Logan finds that he can't sleep without you. [a/b/o dynamics]

Logan thinks that it’s the lack of warmth next to him that wakes him up but he’s not really so sure. All that really matters is that the sheets under his fingertips are cold and that he’s now wide awake with his heart thudding in his chest.

Of course, the first thing he does is worry. Rational thoughts out of his grasp considering his dazed state as he hurriedly blinks the sleep out of his eyes, taking a deep inhale of your scent on the cotton sheets, letting the scent of vanilla seep into his every sense and yet—you’re not there.

He’s never been one to fear—well, not that he’d ever admit so. This was  _supposed_ to be safe, he’d made sure of that—a little, secluded cabin in the Canadian Rockies— _safe,_ protected. He’s sure that he can’t be wrong—he can’t have come this far just to lose again.

Taking a deep inhale, he climbs off the bed, listening to everything but his thundering heartbeat for some sign that you were still in close proximity. He’s tense until he hears the soft  _‘cling’_ of the bottom of a cup against the marble counter.

You’re in the kitchen. It barely relaxes him.

He’s striding out of the bedroom in mere moments—even before he’s even formed a coherent thought that’d probably say something to cement his fear that  _something_  had happened.

He takes a deep breath when he sees you sitting on the counter, relatively unharmed as you take slow sips from a mug, clad in one of his flannels like you usually are. It takes you a while to catch his scent, heavy and pressing down upon you like a warm blanket, your eyes fluttering up to meet his in your dazed state.

“Logan.” You whisper softly as you set down the mug down as he draws closer, his hands coming to settle on your hips as he spreads your legs to stand between them.

He just stares for a moment, taking in everything from how wild your hair is to the darkness of your eyes to the shadow that your eyelashes cast on your cheeks. Logan’s calloused palms smooth up and down your thighs, his voice hoarse, “Where’d you go?”

“Nowhere.” Your reply is no higher than a whisper as his nose nuzzles into your neck, taking a deep inhale of your scent as if he was trying to memorize every facet of it, “I’m right here, my Alpha.”

He presses the softest of kisses to her scent gland, your hands wrapping around his torso to pull him ever closer as your face moves to his hair, “I’ll always be here.”

And maybe it’s the way that you’re so welcoming of him or the way that your breath catches as he presses a line of kisses along your shoulder but it vaguely registers in his head that he’s  _hard_ and he needs you in more ways than one.

“I woke up and you weren’t there.”

“Is the big, bad Wolverine scared of sleeping alone?” You whisper, a teasing lull in your tone although you already know his answer. His laughter is soft, filling you with a sense of warmth that you’ve gotten much too used to in the past years and yet, could never tire of.

“Only of losing you.” His lips press to yours with those words as your hands slide up his back, feeling his muscles coil and tense under your fingers.

Your response is a slow hum against his lips, “Gettin’ soft on me, Alpha?”

Your following giggle fades into a moan as his lips meet yours, his teeth immediately biting down on your bottom lip in retaliation, hands tightening on your hips.

Logan’s wolf is raging already, wanting nothing more than to pin you down on the counter just to hear you whine and keen for his knot—but for now, he figures that he’ll take his time and draw it out, his tongue laving across your bottom lip to soothe the sting of his bite.

His hand moves to cup the back of your head, his lips pressing closer to yours. It’s gentle in a way that you don’t quite expect, your toes curling already from the way that his lips move with yours, gentle,  _slow_ like you’re going to break. There’s no urgency in him as your tongue comes out to trace along his bottom lip, his muffled groan causing your legs to tighten around him.

You’re the first to break the kiss, breaths coming quick and shallow, your muscles tensing when a low growl leaves his lips. Your wolf preens, wanting,  _pleading_ to be his, giving him  _everything_ like you’d done so many times before. It’s a provocative action really but you’re not really thinking before your nails are dragging down his back, undoubtedly leaving red marks that would fade within seconds, displeasing in the manner that you  _couldn’t_ mark him like he would you.

You  _need_ him. Heat pools heavy in your belly as you hold his gaze, darkened whiskey eyes peering into your own.

Logan’s lips part in a low moan when your nails drag down his back, the slight sting exciting that hungry,  _dark_ thing that lived within him and that now overtook his every sense.

His hand tightens in your hair, pulling slightly to tilt your head back, baring your neck to him—the first show of dominance to his sweet, little Omega. The fluttering of your heart is something he relishes in as he bends down, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your pulse point.

“ _Alpha…_ ”

He only growls, his frame bristling with a need to just take what he wanted—he decides that he likes this game.

For now.

His teeth drag over your collarbone, nipping and kissing along it to your shoulder and before you can stay another word, he’s sliding the shirt down your arms, leaving you in nothing but your panties.

You’re craning your neck for him and it’s all the show of submission he needs as his teeth drag across your scent gland, causing a something between a moan and a sigh to leave your lips.

Logan’s hands are greedy as he’s pulling you close to him again, kissing you deeply,  _greedily._ You practically melt against him, your body pliable under the warmth of his hands working gently over your skin.

The scent of you fills the kitchen with pre-storm tension that has his hands tightening around you, pulling your frame impossibly closer to his as his face drops to your neck, stubble scratching  _deliciously_ against your scent gland.

Then you’re cupping the sides of his face and bringing your lips to his and you’re kissing him and he’s kissing you and it’s so, so easy _,_  to  _lose_  yourself in him.

He’s pulling you even closer like he’s trying to fit two pieces of a puzzle together and his lips slant over yours, tongue parting your lips to tangle with yours in a passionate embrace—you’re not really sure you want to be  _found._

Logan swears that he can feel your heartbeat against his chest. Your hand moves to wrap around the back of his neck, your teeth scraping against his bottom lip with a half-smile to draw something like a growl out from him. His hips jerk into yours, your moan muffled against his lips.

Your skin is soft, warm against his hands and he finds that he can’t quite get enough. His thumb drags a light circle around your nipple, drawing a sigh, maybe a moan, soft barely audible—it’s not enough.

He wants more, you want more—that much is clear and maybe, that’s really all that you need to know because he’s dragging your underwear off in one smooth motion, not breaking the kiss like you’re the very oxygen he needs.

His voice is a little strained as he whispers, “My sweet Omega.”

It’s a little more frantic than he really intends when he kisses you again, all tongue and teeth as his hand slips between your legs to just  _barely_ brush against your lips—you’d like to have shown  _some_ restraint but you really can’t find it in yourself not to show  _any_.

Your lips part as you gasp out something that sounds vaguely like, “ _Come on.”_

There’s something about the way that you say it that hits him  _hard,_ making his cock ache through the confines of his sweatpants—it’s supposed to be  _teasing,_ defiant even but it doesn’t come out as much more than a plea.

He relents, taking another deep inhale of her scent, huffing in pleasure as he caught the undertone of lust.

Logan’s hand finds its way back your breast, fingers tweaking the nipple, his darkened eyes never daring stray from yours. He finds that he can’t get enough of the way that you’re responding to him, back bending slightly to push more of your flesh into his hand.

“ _Alpha.”_ You croon, your legs spreading just a little bit more, the movement almost obedient, wordlessly  _begging_ for more.

His touch sets your body ablaze with little embers that skitter across your skin like wildfire. His hand slides down to rest on your inner thigh,  _just_ enough to make your hips buck into his fingers.

His teeth catch your bottom lip, biting it gently before he’s soothing the sting with a passionate kiss, giving you no time to recuperate between how his hands play you and how his lips move with yours.

Your wolf bays and claws, wanting,  _needing_ more as he continues to toy with you, working over your clit, smearing sweet slick around the swollen bundle of nerves—your eyes flutter shut, a low whine leaving your lips.

His movements slow.

“Eyes on me, Omega.”

It’s a phrase you don’t quite expect, the command, along with the scent of him making your heart pound harder in your chest as you force your eyes open, greeted immediately with another tight circle around your clit.

Your whines and moans are desperate, your wolf eager for his knot as his finger slips into you, working gently in and out—he intends to draw this out as long as possible. And as far as you know, you’re willing to comply—you’ll take what your Alpha gives you.

He’s chuckling as your hips buck into his hand, a string of syllables that might be his name or another plea leaving your lips as you struggle to hold his gaze.

Logan presses another finger into you, groaning softly at the way that your walls clench around his digits, your wolf craving  _much_ more than he was giving you.

“Alpha,  _please._ ”

“Please  _what?_ ” Comes his immediate response, voice low and rough.

“Alpha— _Alpha,_  oh—” You’re unable to voice your pleasure, words lost to you as he hooks his fingers, catching something soft and  _electric_ within you that makes your wolf howl with something close,  _too close_ to impatience.

You know he loves this—he makes that much obvious—he’s definitely enjoying your struggle to keep your eyes open, his whiskey eyes glimmering with something akin to amusement as you writhe and move against him, this thumb refusing to relent on your clit.

Your orgasm builds deep in your stomach, his eyes glued to yours as you tremble and quiver but you’re unable to warn him of the white-hot pleasure that courses through you, your legs tightening around him as your slick pools in his hand.

It’s a sight that he swears he can never tire of, watching you come apart on his hand, his wolf preening and baying for more, salivating at the scent of her release overtaking his every scent.

His hand leaves your breast to smooth your hair back, his lips moving to press the softest of kisses to your bond mark, “So good for me, my sweet Omega.”


	44. Wildfire [Erik Killmonger]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, Erik's touch burns.

Erik is an ember—burning constantly, ready to bring ruin with nothing more than a flicker.

It’s the first thing that you remember about him as you walk into the too bright, too loud and too fucking crowded club that some idiot had decided would be a good place for a class reunion.

He’s watching you from the bar like he’s staking some kind of claim and there’s suddenly a warmth spreading too quick, too hot—you’re shedding your jacket despite only getting here not moments ago. Your gaze lingers on him just a little too long to be just business.

There’s a smirk tugging at his lips when you turn away—it’s slow, deliberate like he means to do something more than just watch like he’s too fucking sure of what he’s done already.

Your jaw clenches and you tear your eyes away like you’ve got something to do, somewhere to go but really, there’s one goal—you know the game that he trying to play all too well and now, you’ve just got to win it.

You take a deep breath of the cologne-infused air like you’re bracing yourself for something and then you’re looking back to where he’d stood but he’s not there and maybe, there’s a little undertone of something like triumph ‘cause he’s got to be making his way towards you, and he’s got to have been just a little flustered—

You’re right because the next thing you know, there’s a warm breath falling on your neck and a deep voice whispering something in your ear but you’re not really listening ‘cause there’s a hand resting on the small of your back that’s tainting you with an all too familiar touch and it’s one that you’d recognize anywhere—

“Stevens.”

“Back to last names, huh? Thought we was better friends than that..”

“Might’ve been. Escapes my memory.” Comes your sly response, a smirk tugging at your lips when he takes the seat next to you, one of his arms coming to rest on the counter that was sticky no matter how many times it’d been wiped down with lemon-scented cleaner that didn’t do shit.

He angles his body towards yours, the material of his shirt straining around his arms.

Oh.

“Forget about me so quick?” There’s a teasing lilt to his voice—like he’s trying to provoke, maybe test the waters.

You’re forced to ignore the burning shock of self-awareness that sets your skin ablaze with rushing blood as his gaze drops, taking in the patterns of your dress or maybe what’s under but you won’t question it yet—it’s all a fucking game. A filthy, filthy game that you’re willing to participate in without second thought.

“Hurts a lot, baby girl.”

Maybe it’s the inviting darkness of his eyes or the way that he’s speaking to you like he knows a secret about you that you don’t but suddenly, you’re thinking too fast and it’s too hot and you just want to make some terrible, impulsive decision that’s gonna come back to bite you in the ass in the morning—

“Good.”

And suddenly, his smirk is something more like a grin, crooked, suggestive.

“Ruthless as hell, you know that?”

“Yeah. I know.”

It’s with that remark that it registers how close he really is—he smells like smoke, like the beginning of a fire and you lick your lips, the movement slow, utterly conscious. There’s a flicker of something akin to lust in Erik’s eyes as he catches the movement.

He shifts a little and you’re positive of the reason why, teeth catching your bottom lip like you mean something and—you swear to god that he stiffens.

You smirk.

* * *

 

You’re hoping that he’s aware you’re not in a position to think.

Erik looks innocent, deceptively innocent like he’s completely unaware of everything that he’s doing to you as he steps closer, backing you up against the side of the building. His hands move to rest right above your shoulders—you let out a sound that maybe surprise but he doesn’t notice because he’s leaning in like he’s going to kiss you and you’re leaning up and—

His nose runs along your jaw.

“Erik.” It’s meant to be something along the lines of a demand—like you mean to scold him—but it comes out breathy and he laughs like you’ve just told him a joke that even you don’t understand.

“Back to first names?”

“Got a problem with that?” You’re not sure where the confidence comes from but then his lips are brushing along your neck and it’s all gone and you’re weak in the knees because he’s Erik and you know where this is going to go and you’re not sure you want to stop.

His voice drops, amusement clear in his tone and suddenly, he’s the confident one ‘cause one of his hands drop to your waist and he’s pulling you closer, closer until your chest is pressed flush to his and your heart’s beating like a war drum.

“It ain’t fair.”

And he’s pinning you between the hard planes of his chest and the wall and you’re not sure what to think, what to say but you’re not going to let him win even though the wall is too hot and you’re feeling too hot and your dress is riding up to welcome the rough scratch of the wall against the backs of your thighs—

“Erik Stevens cares about fairness?”

“Come on, baby. You knew what you were doing, didn’t ya? Bitin’ your lip like that, just beggin’ me to kiss that pretty mouth of yours.”

“You got a guarantee it was for you?” There’s a taunt in your voice but it’s enough because suddenly he’s kissing you like you’re the oxygen that he needs to burn brighter and your lips are parting and his tongue is sliding into your mouth and it’s a gorgeous catastrophe.

And then, he’s rocking his hips forward, the outline of his cock through his jeans thick and heavy against your thigh—you moan.

Your hand curls around his collar to deepen the kiss into something messy and frantic like you both know this isn’t meant to last and the last shards of your common sense are melting like candy in your mouth and god—he tastes like fire and smoke and drunk mistakes and you’re craving more of him with every touch.

Erik’s lips don’t leave yours and you’re lost to how it all feels, too hot or too cold—you can’t decide, you can’t think ‘cause his hands are roaming over your body over your dress like he wants to memorize everything about you.

You’re too lost to notice when his lips leave yours to drop to your collarbone and his teeth sink in like he wants you to remember what you let happen here—what you both let happen—and you’re gasping out his name like you want something more and he’s willing, too goddamn willing to give you everything.

He pulls away for a moment, a grin on his lips like he’s won something but you don’t care because you’re kissing him again with a level of aggression that surprises even him and you’re kissing him like you don’t care that you could be seen like this.

He groans into your mouth as you grind your hips forward into the bulge of his cock and your hands drop to the waistband of his jeans, fumbling as you break the kiss to find a better way to get him out of his pants because it’s just not working with his teeth catching your bottom lip and the way he’s biting down—

“Erik,” It’s something between a moan and a sigh as his lips drop to your neck, messily kissing the exposed skin and you’ve finally got his pants down and your hand slips between the barrier of his jeans and his boxers—he moans, the sound low and strained as your hand wraps around him.

He’s rocking into your hand like he’s desperate for something and it’s all the encouragement you need—you’re kissing him again like you want him to burn you with a touch like ice and fire at the same time.

You push him gently away and drop to your knees to watch the last dregs of his resolve crumble with a smirk on your lips.

Your lips drag along the curve of his abs, dipping lower to the waistband of his boxers and he swears, all breathless and wrecked like the simple action is enough to make him cum or maybe it’s the way that you lick over him through the restricting material but suddenly, his entire fucking world is falling off its axis and his hands are dropping to your hair to guide you even though you don’t need it—you already know how to play him.

You hook your fingers around the top of his boxers and you’re tugging down and his knees go momentarily weak although he’s trying, trying so hard to maintain his posture and then your tongue is sliding up the length of his cock and what little control he’s managed to retain just dissolves.

He bites down on his bottom lip, eyes not daring leave you as your tongue moves relentlessly, ruthlessly over him, circling his tip and then sliding up his entire length and fuck—he’s not sure how long he can really hold out with you looking up at him like you’re innocent.

His head falls back against the wall, eyes falling shut and he’s not afraid to be loud because he’s got nothing to lose and his every nerve is burning icy-hot and—

“Fuck, that’s good.”

There’s no response from you but then you’re hollowing your cheeks and taking him deeper and deeper until he hits the back of your throat and he can’t help the way that his hips buck forward, his hands tightening in your hair.

And then, and then—you’re picking up a steady pace, head bobbing around his cock as you touch, taste, tease and he can’t take it anymore because the next thing he knows, he’s rocking his hips gently forward like he wants to give you a choice that he already knows the answer to.

One of your hands moves to cup his ass, encouraging his movements as you relax your jaw to let him thrust.

For a moment, he hesitates like he’s contemplating something that you’re not too sure of but then seconds later, his hips are rolling forward and your entire mouth bursts with some kind of salty-sweetness that makes you moan.

His orgasm is quick, too quick, chaotic, white-hot and it leaves him breathless, a light sheen of sweat causing his shirt to stick to his chest and he’s breathing like he can’t catch his breath but you—you’re the one who’s satisfied, victorious as you swallow, tongue sliding over his oversensitive cock as you clean him up.

You stand up with a smirk that’s giving everything away but then it’s fading because his lips are back on yours like you’re the very oxygen he needs to live and you’re biting back a sound that’s somewhere between a moan and a gasp because he’s pressing against you again like he’s not quite done—

His hand moves to rest on the base of your neck.

And his touch—

His touch burns.

**Author's Note:**

> thoughts? comments?


End file.
